Unrelated Gibberish
by Okami-chan
Summary: A series of one-shots and drabbles that more than likely will not tie into each other. Slash will be present and warned for in chapter titles. G1 and Movieverse. Ch. 47. Minific Hound and Mirage sat together
1. Misfits slash

**Title **_Misfits __  
_**Characters, Pairings **Ironhide/Chromia, Prowl/Jazz  
**Word Count **199  
**Summary** Early in the war, at a recruitment station.

They were the poster-perfect couple.

Despite the doorwings accenting the chevroned one's shoulders, they still shared the same base frame -type. Their black and white paint jobs counterpointed each other so perfectly that Ironhide wondered if he had come to the right place. A thought he knew Chromia shared as she squeezed his hand under the table.

This couldn't really be the recruitment station to the new Prime, could it?

Yet as he watched the two seeming-framekin mechs speak, he noticed an anomaly in their interactions. The subtle hints that they didn't run on the same operating system. That they had been designed with different things in mind.

They expounded the philosophy of the Autobot regime, carrying the words and promises of the new Prime; one with quiet somberness, the other with a jovial grin.

The new Prime; a mech who said that the freedom to love another without regard to frame, or functionality, or processing code, was the right of all Cybertronians.

The new Prime; a mech who was reviled, and hated by his peers for his talk of rights and freedoms; blasphemy to their audio sensors.

The new Prime; a mech who loved a femme.


	2. A Helping Arm?

**Title** Helping... Arm?  
**Characters** Ratchet, Wheeljack  
**Author's notes **Inspired by Ironman. But you can probably enjoy it without having seen the movie, too.  
**Word Count** 272  
**Summary** Ratchet has something for Wheeljack.

* * *

"Wheeljack, I brought you a present."

Wheeljack turned from his latest contraption to look at the thing that Ratchet wheeled in. He lifted a brow ridge, vocal lights flashing dimly. "You brought me... an arm?"

Ratchet blinked and then snorted. "Not just an arm. It has everything you could possibly want on it." He began flipping through the various fingers attached to the 'arm.' "It has a laser scalpel, a fire extinguisher, an arc welder, a drill, a fire extinguisher, wrench, screwdriver, fire extinguisher, drill, saw, hammer, fire extinguisher..."

"Just how many fire extinguishers do you think I need?"

Ratchet smirked, and flipped a switch. The machine hummed to life, turning a lens on the end of its arm to look at the white mech. "Oh, it has more than enough for you, Wheeljack."

At the name, the arm swung around to look at the inventor. A pleased hum sounded from its systems.

"You know I don't like drones, Ratchet."

The white mech grinned in his most charming manner (which wasn't saying much) and moved toward the door. "It's there to help you, if you need it." With that the medic slipped out.

Wheeljack watched the arm roll toward him. It chirped at him and he narrowed his optics at it. Then he turned back to his project on the counter. Another hum and suddenly cold washed over his frame. He jerked around, certain to find Ratchet standing there.

Only the arm looked at him, one of its nozzles smoking gently.

Wheeljack looked at the foam covering his torso, flicking it off his arms, and glared at the machine. "I hate you."


	3. Snowflake slash

**Title **Snowflake  
**Pairing** Hound/Bluestreak  
**Word Count **378  
**Summary** Bluestreak's first snowfall  
**Author's notes** This was requested by Tiamat1972, the prompt was Hound/Bluestreak/snowflake. It might be worth noting that I'm not entirely sure if Bluestreak was in that snow episode early in the first season.

It burned like acid.

Bluestreak shoved away from Hound, looking around in alarm, all the warmth and excitement vanishing in nearly blind panic. He expected to see a sniper hiding somewhere. Instead he saw the steady fall of white substance. It landed on his armor plating, burning where it stuck.

No, it didn't burn, it froze.

"Is it raining?"

Hound looked up at the cloudy sky. "You were damaged last time it happened." He grinned, eager to show his lover this earthen precipitation.

Bluestreak stared at his hands, catching the tiny crystals on his fingers. His optics zoomed in to a magnification that allowed him to see the individual form of the ice crystals.

Hound spread his arms, lifting his head back. "It's called snow."

"It's ice," Bluestreak countered. "Wow, I never knew that it rained ice before. Well, I mean, I know about sleet, but sleet's nothing like this. These are like tiny sculptures."

Hound grinned at Bluestreak. "Humans like to catch it on their glossa." He put action to words, holding his mouth open and sticking his glossa out.

Bluestreak grinned, emulating the scout by holding his glossa out. The little ice crystals stung where they stuck, leaving traces of water when they melted. "_Snow? The humans have such odd names for things. It's just ice. I'm sure Wheeljack could explain it so much better than I can, but even thinking about hearing the equations he'd say makes my head hurt._"

Hound wiggled his fingers, putting an arm around Bluestreak's shoulders. He leaned closer to wipe the snow off Bluestreak's optics. He didn't say anything, he didn't have to.

"_I can see their shape, even on my optics. None of them are the same._"

"No," Hound smiled as he stepped away, the scent of Bluestreak lingering pleasantly on his fingers, "in a million of them, none of them are the same. They're called snowflakes by themselves," he knew Bluestreak liked any odd little bit of information.

Bluestreak smiled at Hound, closing his chilled mouth. He moved closer to Hound, leaning his shoulder against the jeep's.

Together the two sat there and watched the snow fall on the trees; covering the world in white.


	4. ProwlSideswipeBlush slash

**Title** Prowl/Sideswipe/blush  
**Characters** Jazz, Sideswipe, Prowl  
**Word Count **444 (or less?)  
**Summary** Nothing intelligent enough to summarize.  
**Warnings** Discussion of potential interface partners?  
**Author's Notes **This is probably pure crack. I blame Tiamat1972 (once again) for it. It devolved from discussing a picture of Sideswipe blushing that you can find on DevArt. Didn't quite hit the mark, but hopefully you'll still find it amusing.

* * *

Prowl paused in the corridor, breaking off his sentence to Jazz to give the red twin an appraising look as though he hadn't seen Sideswipe ever before. "Huh," the soft burst of sound startled both of the waiting mechs. "I never noticed before." A white hand reached up to ping against the hatch attached to Sideswipe's arm, making it swing slightly. "You have doorwings."

He moved them again, fascinated with the way they swung on the axis of the tire.

"They're nothing like yours," Sideswipe muttered in embarassment.

Said doorwings flicked in annoyance. "Mine are an inconvenience." The tactician looked back at Jazz. "What's the probability of Ratchet refitting my doorwings like this?"

Jazz snorted, or snickered, Sideswipe really wasn't sure. "Less'n five percent I'd say. If y'don' need it, y' ain't gettin' it."

"True."

"Are you drunk... sir?" Sideswipe grumbled as Prowl continued to fondle his door.

"I am perfectly sober, thank you, soldier." A final tug and the white hand let go. Prowl lifted his head to look Sideswipe in the optic. "They are really befitting to your warrior status. They increase the appeal of your appearance by at least 15 percent. Coupled with the appeasing contrast between the red and the white paint, the likelihood of my interfacing with you would be 70 percent. Pity you're not an officer, I might actually take you up on that offer."

Sideswipe felt a burn along his cheeks as energon rushed to the seams, pinking them slightly. "I think you're drunk, sir. Maybe you should take Jazz up on his offer."

Prowl looked at the laughing saboteur. "Jazz? No. The likelihood of my accepting Jazz's offer to interface is less than 30 percent. Highly unlikely. If I want black and white I will stimulate myself. I like a little more color," he paused to flick his chevron, "in my interfaces." He tilted his head at Sideswipe. "Red is a nice color, and you wear it handsomely."

The burn deepened in Sideswipe's cheekseams. There was no doubt in Sideswipe's processor, Prowl had to be drunk. Jazz didn't seem any better as he doubled over in his laughing fit. "I... thank you... er... Prowl..."


	5. He Doesn't Judge slash

So, been thinking about it, and I'm changing this to be a place for more than just drabbles, but one-shots as well. As it is, this _barely_ a drabble (if you consider 500 words still a drabble).

**Title** He Doesn't Judge  
**Character/Pairings** Mirage/Jazz (unrequited), Prowl/Jazz (implied)  
**Summary** _When all others have turned aside, you remain; head turned, expression intent, nodding in all the right places.  
_**Author's Notes** This was an opportunity to play with this pairing. Then Prowl snuck in there. -sweatdrop-

* * *

You listen.

When all others have turned aside, you remain; head turned, expression intent, nodding in all the right places. Even Hound, who has the patience of a cyberwolf, has long since tired of hearing of my glories, of what I lost.

Perhaps, what turns his head is not how often I speak of Home, but rather, the means by which I long held the Towers. We nobles are known to have made our wealth on the bodies of our rivals and our servants, our slaves. When Megatron came, promising riches beyond measure, and Optimus came with nothing more than empty dreams; our course was as predetermined as the programming that moved us.

For the longest time the Towers -- yes even my Towers -- supported the Decepticon cause. We loaned supplies, and bodies. And I say loaned, for the expectations were that the Decepticons would pay us back, with a substantial amount of interest for the services rendered.

Yet the war dragged on, and nothing came of our loans. Future interest, on which there have been no payments, can only hold loyalties for so long. One by one, the Decepticons set examples with those who no longer wished to support their cause.

In the end, it wasn't Optimus' words that drew me to the Autobot cause, nor any kind of belief in their values that has long held me. I stay because to do otherwise is death. Death from the Decepticons for betraying them. Death from the neutrals that harbor hatred in their sparks for the memory of those we sacrificed for our own wealth, the memory of those _I_ sacrificed for _my_ own wealth.

The Autobots know, if not my own reasons, my methods; it stirs no great amount of trust from them and much contempt for myself. They tire quickly of my words, for in their sparks they have judged me, and found me wanting.

Even Optimus has judged me. I saw the reproach in his optics when I came crawling to him, using my singular talent to evade the Decepticons seeking me.

But you...

You know of my flaws and there is no censure in your visored gaze.

You don't judge, for you know that your hands are no cleaner than mine. None of us have come through this war without tarnish to our sparks.

You listen.

There are no words to express my gratitude, my appreciation for that simple act. But words are all I have to offer.

For you, in the end, will turn to another. Another who, like me, finds himself censured by the others. Whose cold logic is not always tempered with Autobot compassion. Whose emotionless facts and numbers earn him no friends among those he orders into battle, unable to guarantee a safe return.

How I envy him. For, in the end, he has you.


	6. Look a Little Closer some slash

This would be why I switched it from just drabbles to random stories. Heh.

There's a butt-load of fics honoring the friendship (sometimes more) between various Autobots and the canon humans. One however, seems to regularly slip through the cracks (inasmuch as I can only recall one fic with them off the top of my head).

Not exactly my normal style, I think, but it's the way the narrator told it to me.

**Title** Look a Little Closer  
**Characters** Chip, Prowl, smidgeon of Sideswipe, also Prowl/Sideswipe implied  
**Summary** You can't judge your friendship based upon another's.

I wish I could say that I knew how difficult it was to have a giant alien robot as a close friend

I wish I could say that I knew how difficult it was to have a giant alien robot as a close friend. Spike knows, and Sparkplug, too. Carly seems to get on well with Hound. Heck, Raoul and Tracks go out on a weekly basis to hang or go to a concert. And, I mean, there's Wheeljack, who's a great guy and all, if you don't mind that his lab is constantly smoky from how often he blows it up. (He claims there's something about our planet that is throwing off his calculations, but everyone always laughs at him about that.) But the one I 'd really like to get to know better, however, seems to avoid me like the plague. Or a computer virus. Or something.

I saved the guy's life for Christ's sake! He thanked me, yeah, but that's it. He acts like nothing happened, and barely speaks to me beyond the normal pleasantries. To make matters even better, his bondmate, Sideswipe (and _that_ was a trip and a half, I tell you) goes out of his way to play pranks on me. He never hurts me (which is more than can be said for some of what he's done to Carly and Spike), but it's annoying to be suddenly drenched by water, or having a door refuse to open, among other things. I've seen them talking and the way Sideswipe acts so possessive whenever I appear, and glares at me, makes me wonder if I might be annoying the one I'm trying to befriend.

He seems like the type who'd never say anything, or complain if you were annoying him, though Lord knows that he snaps at some of the 'delinquents' often enough when they're pestering him (including his own bondmate). So it makes me think that Sideswipe's just trying to tell me what his bondmate's too polite to.

Then came the day that I managed to get caught out on the battlefield, and had no one else around me.

The Decepticons were trying to hold onto a powerplant they'd 'procured' until they had drained it into a nuclear meltdown. I'm not entirely clear how it happened, but I found myself out in the open, with explosions going off all around me, shaking every bone in my body. I remember flinching, even though I really couldn't hear anything at that point, my ears were ringing too much. I couldn't _see_ anyone, just a smoky haze that seemed to cover the landscape. And that's a scary feeling right there, knowing that there's Decepticons out there and not knowing where they are. Worrying that your big friends would miss you and step on you, or run you over.

The smoke choked me, but I kept turning my wheelchair, heart pounding in my chest, my grip slippery on the metal bars with sweat, trying to find the Autobots' line.

I think I was in a near panic, then because the next thing I remember I'm face first on the ground, my wheelchair nowhere in sight, and there's one of the Seekers standing only a hundred feet away (nothing when you're thirty feet tall).

He lifted his arm, his voice a distant, unintelligible rumble as he sneered his contempt at me. My face was wet, and my arms were shaking, moving of their own volition, trying to drag my hapless body away.

I don't think I heard the shot, so much as felt it. The electric charge in the air, the heat, the concussion.

I thought I was going to die.

I remember the ground trembling, like a herd of elephants stampeding by.

The shot never hit.

I looked up from where I'd covered my head and Prowl crouched above me like some guardian angel; his optics blazing, sunlight shining on his flared wings, teeth gritted and bared. One of his normally pristine hands braced his upper torso as the other held his gun and took aim at the Seeker. The air rippled with the power behind his shots, vibrating through my chest and I stared speechless as another Autobot pounded by. Sideswipe ripped into the black wings, his shouts coming through my ringing ears as senseless roars. The light flashed off his dented plating as he moved; his hands vanishing into the Seeker's cockpit like some gruesome surgery.

Prowl gathered me into his hands, rising to his feet in a graceful move I thought only Jazz could pull off. He cradled me, fingers curling protectively around me as he backed away from the Decepticon and his red attacker. Still Sideswipe pounded into the Decepticon, his voice ringing through Prowl's hands.

I could only stare stupidly at the Autobot, even though he didn't look at me even after he'd paused to scoop up my wheelchair. When he moved his arm, I finally noticed the burn mark scorched on the upper strut. He'd taken the shot for me. Wiring lay exposed and sparking, his shoulder tire blown to smithereens. He wouldn't be able to transform and drive like that.

I realized he was talking to me when he gently jostled his hands. I looked back up, and he spoke again, but I shook my head, pointing at my still-ringing ears. Smoke clogged my throat, and terror stole my voice, I could only hope he understood.

He contemplated me for a moment, his lips pressed into a thin frown. I wondered if he was mad it me for being so stupid as to get caught out in the open like that. Then he moved, heading toward where I saw the other Autobots and striding up to Ratchet.

Ratchet looked at me, and I could almost feel the scans he ran over my body. They spoke for a little bit, Prowl's voice rumbling through his hands in an irritated manner, before he set me down on a nearby workbench. I still hadn't said anything when he turned and strode away, gesturing orders at the soldiers on the field.

My ears rang until the fighting finally stopped. I found I couldn't do more than sit there, watching everything from my numb haze. I know Ratchet kept looking at me, and I'm pretty sure he was worried. He'd helped me into my wheelchair, his voice rolling through his hands, reassuring.

Prowl came back, sitting down to allow Ratchet to look at his shoulder. He looked at me, his optics bright with his waning battlemode, akin to adrenaline. "Chip? Are your audio receptors functioning yet?"

I winced, but nodded, only then realizing that I was no longer hearing ringing, but the clanks and screeches and fizzles of repair.

"Are you damaged?"

That surprised me. I rarely heard him even ask Sideswipe that question (though it might be because it's an obvious answer). I laughed softly, weakly to my own ears, finally finding my voice. "Just shaken up, I think."

He tilted his head, and then nodded sharply. "Good." He stretched out his free hand toward me, and I rolled myself forward to be easier in his reach. I was flinching in expectation of his berating lecture, as I'd seen him give the others. He touched my shoulder with his finger tips. "I was worried."

"You were?" I couldn't help but ask, and I couldn't stop the other words that tumbled from my mouth. "I thought you hated me."

A snorted laugh from Ratchet earned a sour look from Prowl.

"What made you think that? I never said I hated you." His optics flashed, and an amused smile tilted his mouth. "And if it is Sideswipe that concerns you, he is merely…" he paused searching for the word.

"A pain in the diodes?" Ratchet supplied, twisting his wrench and earning another sharp glare from Prowl.

"Jealous," Prowl stated. "He has never liked it when my attention is on someone else."

I opened my mouth to protest, but shut it again and thought back. He'd never dismissed me when I spoke to him, certainly he would continue doing whatever it was he was doing. While he was always polite to me, I could recall hearing him snap at Spike and Bumblebee if they were doing something disagreeable to him. Even Sparkplug had been on the receiving end of his harsh tongue.

Sometimes, it seemed if he did initiate a greeting he always wound up blocking whatever Autobot was rushing around a corner from striking (and probably crushing) me. Thinking about it after the fact, it just seemed too coincidental.

I looked up at the Autobot patiently waiting for a response. And I realized that we wouldn't have the same friendship as Spike and Bumblebee, or Sparkplug and Ratchet, or any of the others, because _Prowl _was none of those Autobots. He _had_ been friendly; it was simply in his own way.

"So we're friends?" I couldn't help but wonder aloud.

"Of course." Even though I'm sure he was surprised by that question, he kept his neutral tone.

By this time, Ratchet was bent over Prowl's shoulder sniggering loudly. "We keep telling Prowl," Ratchet chuckled glancing toward me, "that no one can tell when he's being friendly, and when he's simply being polite."

To my surprised, Prowl's doorwings dipped and his head bent in what I recognized as dim-opticked embarrassment.

"I'm sorry. I never intended to make you think I hated you."

I grinned, realizing that I simply had to adjust my own attitudes toward friendship. "It's my fault too, Prowl. And, thank you, also, for saving me out there."

He shrugged a doorwing, a small embarrassed smile still on his face. "What are friends for?"


	7. KnowItAll

**Title** Bluestreak/Daniel/know-it-all  
**Warnings** None  
**Summary** Bluestreak's stuck in the medbay alone, and is surprised to find himself with a little company. (Pun intended).  
**Author's Notes** I requested fluff bunnies from my lj friends because quite truthfully I'm not terribly practiced at writing WAFF and Fluff. This was requested by Wyntir Rose. It was supposed to be a drabble… Yeah… Didn't quite manage that…

* * *

Bluestreak hated to be in the medbay after shift. Especially when everyone else had been released, even the twins. Bluestreak held his doorwings stiffly upright, refusing to give into the irrational fear that ate at his circuits. His leg hurt where it had been shot, but he wasn't about to wake up Ratchet to complain about it, the dent on his helm still smarted, after all.

Even the bright lights that illuminated every inch of the medbay provided fuel to Bluestreak's notoriously overactive imagination. He shuttered his optics, wondering why Ratchet couldn't have let him out before he left. _I mean, it's not like I'm Sideswipe, or, Primus forbid, Brawn, I don't usually come here a lot. And why does it have to be so quiet in here? Or is it quiet? Was that something squealing over there? Did Ratchet leave something on, and forget about it? We're right by the impact point too, and Sideswipe's always joking about how Ratchet's going to wake up the ones still buried in the mountain one day. What was that scratching? Was that something scratching on the rocks? Was that a snap? Might be a mouse, Sparkplug says he's been seeing them running around, though Primus knows what they're eating here and-_

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!"

Bluestreak jumped out of his exoplating, fuel pump beating wildly in his chest as his scream died in a burst of static.

His optics snapped open, his auto-record playing back the minute scream that had accompanied his own, coming from the direction of the touch that had initially set off his startled cry.

He stared wide-eyed at the little boy standing on the wheeled stepladder designed for the human's easy access to the medical berths. Daniel stood back against the rails of the stepladder, clutching his stuffed T-rex and the quilt that he was seen carrying around the Ark.

Bluestreak floundered for a moment, not really knowing what to say, well besides the 'Daniel?' that escaped from his vocalizer. He hadn't had much to do with the boy since he started spending more time at the Ark. The entire crew was taking some adjusting to his rather vociferous presence.

"Can I sleep with you?"

Bluestreak couldn't help the twitch of his doorwings as he stared down at Daniel. "Don't you have a berth of your own?" Even so, he gently lifted the child the rest of the way to the gurney.

"Yeah," Bluestreak almost couldn't hear the tinny petulant word, "but Hound's not here to scare Davy Jones out of the closet."

Bluestreak's doorwings twitched again as he held a hand over his damaged leg to discourage curious fingers from getting pinched, or worse. Knowing his luck, it'd be worse, and Ratchet would then come and probably deactivate him or turn him into a scooter for Daniel. "Davy Jones?" Wasn't that a human-

"He's the sea devil that eats bad pirates. Mommy always says that since I'm a pirate, if I'm bad, he's going to come and he's going to take me down to the bottom of the sea. Sideswipe says that he stuffs you into his locker for a snack later." The little brows turned upward. "I don't wanna be a snack."

Bluestreak tilted his head at Daniel, watching as Daniel settled in the crook of his neck. "If he's a sea devil, then what's he doing in your closet?" He was certainly glad Prowl wasn't here for this, he was sure it'd short out his logic circuits, and that would really make Ratchet mad, the CMO hated having to reset Prowl's logic circuits.

"He's waiting for me to be bad, so that he can come and get me easily." Without further prompting from Bluestreak, he went on to explain, "Hound says that Davy Jones is nowhere near as nasty as Blackspark. Hound says that was a really nasty pirate on Cybertron, and he uses his hal- haul- holgram," the little boy stumbled over the word, only to right back up without further hesitance, "to scare Davy Jones away, because you guys don't taste good, and nothing's scarier than Blackspark."

Bluestreak had to mute the glitched choke from his vocalizer at that name. Blackspark was a near-mythic figure in Cybertronian mythology, but he wasn't entirely sure that 'pirate' fit in what he was known for.

The warm little presence that chattered happily at him about humans whom Bluestreak had no idea were, but made a note to look up later, eased the gunner's usually tense nerves. Most knew Bluestreak as a chatterbox, and tolerated his incessant talking (to a point), but even the gunner enjoyed a chance to sit back, or lay back as the case may be, and simply _listen_ as someone else took the steering wheel and filled his audio receivers with words that wrapped him in sound and kept away the awful silence. He listened to Daniel, holding as still as possible to prevent anything from catching on the boy's clothing or sensitive skin. He listened as Daniel's voice slowly petered out like a dying engine, aware of the minute sounds of the boy going into recharge.

He listened, the silence no longer pressing, because it was no longer there. Daniel's breathing, his heartbeat, all sounded preternaturally loud in Bluestreak's audios. He listened to the soft rush, the steady thumps until he felt himself sliding into recharge, making sure to lock all his joints before he did.

He had an inkling, now, what the humans felt for their small sparklings. He would never want to hurt this precious little person.


	8. Culture

**Title **Perceptor/Grimlock/Culture  
**Characters** Perceptor, Grimlock  
**Summary **Perceptor receives a little help from an unexpected source. (fluff bunny from lj, requested by Hellsfirescythe.)

* * *

This had to be punishment.

That was the only conclusion Perceptor could draw as he fit another ribbon on a hook . The ladder he stood on rocked unsteadily as he shifted his weight.

Yes, this indeed had to be punishment. Though he couldn't imagine what warranted Wheeljack, of all mechs, dragging him out of the lab like that. Certainly Ratchet, or Prowl needed to step out of their work areas more so than _Perceptor_ did. That was without taking into consideration that they had him preparing for a rather ridiculous human custom.

The notion of celebrating something like this baffled the scientist. He had missed a similar event the first few years of the Autobot's awakening by sheer virtue of not having been online. There were other customs that the Autobots followed: Christmas, Halloween (oh the pranksters seemed to _love_ Halloween. He was _still_ pulling spider web fibers out of various nooks and crannies around the lab.)

"What you, Perceptor, do there?"

The sudden question and looming presence at his shoulder startled Perceptor. His arms flailed and he yelped as he tried to keep his balance.

A large hand came up, halting the microscope's near fall.

Perceptor smiled gratefully up at Grimlock's ever aggressive masked and visored face.

The Dinobot leader looked from the scientist to the decorations hung around the rec room. "What this?"

"Ah, these are the decorations intended for the celebration of Carly's imminent delivery date. Have they insisted on your participation in this ridiculous event as well, Grimlock?"

The black and gold mech straightened after Perceptor steadied himself on the ladder. "Dinobots not have nothing to do with stupid Autobot parties." His optic band narrowed. It was a policy his fellow Dinobots weren't very fond of, and tended to object pretty loudly to. "Who delivering her, Carly, here? She 'delivered' here all time with him, Bumblebee."

Perceptor blinked, pausing in putting up another banner. "They are celebrating the delivery of Carly's offspring. It is due to arrive in another two Earth months."

Grimlock tilted his head. "That stupid." He paused, staring at a spot on the wall. "Did stupid Autobots celebrate Dinobot's 'delivery'?"

Perceptor finished hanging the banner. "I wasn't here for that, Grimlock. But I doubt it. It's simply not a Cybertronian custom to perform such an act. Mechs would come off the assembly line almost without stop for a while, and then the war started, and there was no time or reason to celebrate the life of someone who would likely die in their first battle." Perceptor didn't see what joy humans, who barely lived for more than a vorn, could find in bringing an offspring to such a short existance.

Grimlock took a step back. "Autobots not care that Dinobots 'delivered', Autobots not care that Dinobots hurt. Dinobots not care that her, Carly, delivers offspring. Me, Grimlock, still say party stupid Autobot thing!"

Perceptor turned to the Dinobot, optics resetting in surprise. "You're here because the other Dinobots are in the medbay, aren't you?"

"What Autobot care?" Grimlock reclaimed the step he'd retreated and jabbed a big finger at the red mech. "It Dinobot problem."

Perceptor turned an inscrutable look on the black and gold mech. "But you Dinobots are also Autobots, aren't you?" He resumed hanging the banner before climbing down to move the ladder.

Grimlock watched Perceptor silently, making the introverted scientist twitchy and nervous. Perceptor's very nature dictated the way he treated the Dinobots- just like he treated all the other Autbots- in his infuriatingly well-spoken manner that always seemed to be on the edge of talking down to a mech.

"Us Dinobots better than stupid Autobots."

"Indubitably. That is after all why you were constructed, because there are quite a few things that you are better at then any Autobot. I'm certain that the ratio of battles we lost to battles we won would be much higher if it weren't for your presence."

That made the Tyrannosaurus blink, taken aback by the unexpected agreement, the confusion evident on his face as he mulled Preceptor's words over for any insult. Perceptor climbed down the ladder, moving it again to put up more ribbon. "You know that Jazz needs no ulterior motive to throw a party, perhaps you should discuss the situation with him. I'm fairly certain that you harbor no animosity toward him, unlike some of the other officers."

Grimlock watched the scientist climb back up the ladder. "Me, Grimlock, not care, but..." He vented an angry sigh. "But them, Dinobots, like stupid Autobot parties. Fine, me talk to him, Jazz. Now you, Perceptor, tell me, Grimlock, about stupid Autobot preparations. Me, Grimlock, help."

Perceptor blinked in surprise, turning to look at the Dinobot who could easily reach the ceiling without requiring a ladder. "That would be much appreciated. Thank you, Grimlock."


	9. Reassurance slash

**Title** Prowl/Sideswipe/Reassurance  
**Pairings** Prowl/Sideswipe  
**Word Count** 930 word drabble XD;  
**Summary** Despite being bonded, especially when dealing with a mech like Prowl, sometimes you need to hear a few special words.  
**Author's Note** Written for Lunenightingale who's been feeling overwrought and (when asked) wanted some fluff. (-hugs- Don't overstress yourself!) I was more than happy to oblige. (I don't write nearly enough fluff.) Also of note, this takes place in the same universe as 'Just a Little of Your Attention, Please?' and 'Shall We Dance?' far far in the future. Should I ever get there.

* * *

The noise tremored through his doorwings, a background static that he tuned out, bent over his datapads and signing away his spark to the various departments that made up the United States government. Mechs softly talked around him, mindful of their words with an officer of such high rank in their midst.

"Is this seat taken?"

Prowl didn't have to look up to see the speaker. Truthfully, he didn't even need his audio receptors active in order to hear that request. The question resonated within his very spark, a strange sensation he'd never grown accustomed to, despite the numberof times that it had occurred.

"You should not have to ask that question Sideswipe." He didn't even bother to look up then, though he felt the flash of quickly stifled anger at his easy dismissal.

A black hand shoved Prowl's data pads to the far edge, allowing Sideswipe to lean his full weight on the tabletop and lean down to glare at Prowl. "And _why_ are you working in here if you're off duty?"

Prowl reached over Sideswipe's hand to slide one of the pads back toward him. "The humans do not work on our time, Sideswipe, I must, therefore, work on theirs even when I am scheduled off."

For a moment, Sideswipe gripped the tactician's arm just before he slumped into the seat that had been his since Prowl had sat down. "So you're going to spend all evening in here? Workin on these stupid," and he smacked at the datapads, "things?"

"I am as regretful of that fact as you are, but you are welcome to join me." Prowl turned his attention to the Secretary of State's letter, composing a response even as he read through the letter. "We can still talk, I will manage." He always did.

They sat there for a good few cycles, Sideswipe shifting uncomfortably and growing quieter with each passing breem. Prowl responded, but didn't spare the processing power to start topics of his own. He didn't even notice that Sideswipe had rested his head on the table until he happened to glance up, intending to ask Sideswipe to retrieve an energon cube for him.

His doorwings twitched at seeing the forlorn neutrality on Sideswipe's face. "Sideswipe, is something the matter?"

The dark optics flashed online and a frown pinched across his face only to be replaced by a disinterested stare. "Ah, don't worry about me, Prowler. I mean, you've got all those datapads to worry about and all." He waved a hand at Prowl, turning his face away.

Prowl stared at the mech, long and hard, sending a query over their bond. He was surprised when he encountered a wall where normally he could find a little bit of warmth to see him through a long day. "Sides?" he tried again, leaning forward to see the other's face.

Sideswipe seemed to sag on the table, a defeated sigh rushing from his vents. "Does it even matter to you?"

Prowl's fingers twitched from the shoulder he'd been about to lay his hand on. He sent another, more forceful, query, trying to get asense of his lover's mindset.

Sideswipe sat up, pushing the pile of datapads back toward Prowl. "Why don't you just get on with your work, I'll see you on the recharge cycle."

Ah! So that was his problem. Prowl caught Sideswipe's arm, reaching across the table, his bumper scraping the table top. "I can split my attention between two things evenly, I am sorry if you feel neglected."

Sideswipe pulled away slightly, and Prowl wondered what he'd said wrong. Still he didn't relinquish his hold on the red mech, determined to find out just what was bothering his unusually evasive bondmate.

The other mech refused to meet the tactician's optics and he mumbled something that Prowl couldn't quite make out.

"I am sorry, Sides, what was that?"

Sideswipe vented harshly, glaring up at Prowl. "I said, do you even care about me anymore? All you ever seem to want to do is work."

Prowl processed that for a tic. He then decided to run that through again, pressing against the walled-off bond as he worked those words through his social protocols. He stood and with determined steps, walked around the table to stand next to Sideswipe.

A white hand rested against the black crown, pulling a surprised Sideswipe toward him to rest his head on his torso. He let the mech sit there for a long breem or two, stroking the angular horns comfortingly, doing his best to ignore the blatant stares he and Sideswipe were receiving. Then he leaned over Sideswipe, though he was unable to see him past his protruding bumper. "I might have a lot of work to do, but it is to keep you safe, Sideswipe. I do it to ensure that you will be here when I come online after every recharge cycle. I do it, because I love you."

Sideswipe seemed to take a full breem to process those words, before his arms wrapped tightly around Prowl's waist. Then he pulled the tactician down for a sloppy kiss and another fierce hug, one that Prowl returned with a much more subdued grip. The bond opened between them, showering Prowl with the relief and echoes of despair. Prowl tightened his grip almost imperceptibly.

Sideswipe finally released him and shoved him back to his seat. But his optics danced and his grin spoke of the return of the mech Prowl had grown to care for. And Prowl worked, Sideswipe's voice a reassuring murmur in his audio receptors and a comforting song within his spark.


	10. Not So Normal Everyday

******Title **Not-so-Normal Everyday  
******Characters** male OC  
******Summary** John Mclane is a normal everyday guy.  
******Warning** Human cursing.  
******Author's Note** While it could possibly fit into normal G1, (in my head, at least) this can be read (and was written) as one situation that might have happened after Sunny and Sideswipe parted ways in Vaeru's Juxtaposition. This is why there is no recognition that an Autobot's involved, and why certain mechs are alone, dirty and recharging in a parking lot. If you're not familiar with Juxtaposition, please... go dedicate this afternoon with doing something about that. You can find it amidst my favorites.

* * *

John Mclane drove an everyday normal POS car. He went to work at an everyday normal crappy job. Went home to an everyday normal bitchy wife. Had everyday normal little bratty children. Everyday normal house, and everyday normal pets.

John Mclane was an everyday normal guy.

Every day passed by like the one before. Monotony made his life, and with a sigh he pulled into the parking lot that held every other car within the downtown area. He passed dingy car after dingy car, and parked next to the only nice car in the lot, one of the brand new hybrids. Out of his price range.

Yellow filled his windshield.

Shining gold.

He stared, shocked to see a fucking _Lamborghini _in a run-down part of town like this. (a slightly beaten down and little worse for the wearLamborghini, but a Lamborghini nonetheless)

The car rolled forward and too late he realized he needed to hit the brakes.

"Aw, fuck!" John backed up and shoved his car into park, cutting the ignition and yanking the keys out with a vicious jerk. He got out of his car, whipping about his car to see the paint scraped off the dirty bodywork. Dirty or not someone was bound to notice.

There was no way his insurance would cover anything this guy would demand. Shit… Even if the car wasn't in the best shape, the guy certainly had damned lawyers out the wazoo that would chew John up and spit out the pieces.

John tugged at his necktie, glancing about the parking lot and adjacent streets nervously to see if anyone had noticed his incident. A car roared by, screeching around the corner and making him nearly piss his pants.

His heart hammering in his chest he sought out the one thing he kept on himself for the paperwork he dragged between home and work. Nervous fingers brought out the oblong object and pulled off a cap.

He crouched down, and diligently began applying the yellow highlighter to the scraped bumper. He swiftly inspected his work and stood, legs weak with anxiety. John grabbed up his suitcase and shut the open driver door to his car and hastened away from the Lamborghini.

All he wanted to do was forget it'd ever happened.

* * *

John Mclane rounded the corner, another normal everyday finished. He wanted only to go home and vegetate in front of the television with a beer in hand now. He wanted only to….

Where the hell was his car?

Oh fuck no…

That couldn't be it, could it? The briefcase fell from his fingers as his jaw went slack. Words escaped him, jumbled together in a cacophony of curses that locked themselves in his throat and only came out in a small whimpering 'ah?'

The remains of what used to be his car lay in a mangled mess of twisted metal. Like someone had dropped something on it, and then used it in some sort of hackysack game leaving yellow streaks over the crumpled edges.

How the hell….

"Motherfucking sonnuvabitch…" What the hell was he going to tell his wife?


	11. Won't Let Me Sleep

**Title **Won't Let Me Sleep  
**Characters** Optimus, Sideswipe  
**Summary** Finally returned to base after an extended battle, Optimus finds himself unable to simply drop into exhausted recharge. Going to the rec room, he finds he's not the only one with this problem.  
**Author's Note **This is the kiriban requested by Haloson for being the 5000th hit on my DA page. The request was Optimus/Sideswipe/Quiet Moment. 1700 words.

* * *

Optimus tossed the last datapad on the stack. He leaned back in his seat, folding his hands behind his head. He stretched out joints that had been held in one position for too long. Wires and cables stretched tight, and he released a mighty groan from his engine. His long legs reached under the table and his feet stuck out the other side of the desk. He shook his legs, getting the last bit of ache out of them and then gathered his feet under him and shoved himself up.

He walked out of his office, still too riled up from the battle only a megacycle earlier to head straight for his berth. He decided to see if anyone was still in the rec room, though most of the crew should have been in recharge. They had stayed on the battlefield for over a metacycle, until the Decepticon forces had retreated back to their headquarters.

The Autobots had rolled home, aching and exhausted. Optimus had even carried quite a few injured mechs in his trailer, with Ratchet stepping around and over their legs. Prowl, ever efficient, had done the best that he could in organizing the remains of the unit to cover shifts and patrols, before he succumbed to exhaustion, at the insistence of Jazz. Optimus had no doubt that Prowl would have otherwise remained at least until Optimus had left, if not even after that.

Of course, had Prowl remained, they likely would have gotten through the work twice as fast together, as Optimus did by himself. But he wouldn't begrudge the tactician his rest.

His steps sounded loud in the quiet of the base. He passed only one other mech in the halls, and the exhausted mech nodded bare acknowledgments as he made his rounds. Optimus didn't stop for more pleasantries, eager for a relaxing cube before he headed to recharge.

Lights flickered in the dimmed rec room, a bright white reflecting off the wall.

Optimus turned toward the consoles adjacent to the near wall. Most of the screens sat in darkened sleep mode, but one flickered and flashed with images moving across it. Sideswipe hunched in his seat, feet pulled under his chair, fingers flicking over the keyboard to move his character.

"Hello, Sideswipe," Optimus said as he walked past the mech.

Sideswipe wordlessly lifted an arm, hand flapping at the wrist. He didn't even look away from the screen, blue optics intent on his character racing through the streets.

Optimus retrieved a cube, filling it with energon that warmed his hand through the cube. He sauntered over to the consoles and sat down a space away from the red mech. He activated the console, pulling up the news feed for any new transcriptions from the rest of Cybertron. He read through senator statements on the war, not even able to conjure up any energy to be angered by their disregard for the danger the Decepticons presented.

Disgusted by what he found, Optimus found his gaze wandering over to the red mech next to him. "I'm surprised to see you still online. I would have thought you would have no problems going into recharge."

Sideswipe shrugged indifferently. "Sunstreaker's still in the medbay."

Optimus belatedly realized that, yes, he did remember reading that the golden Toughline had been one of the mechs that would require an extended stay in the medbay. He wanted to smack himself for forgetting that. He should have known that, and from the way Sideswipe's mouth tilted down he seemed to think so too.

"Do you know what his status is at the moment?" Already certain of the answer, Optimus pinged the medic on call and waited for a response.

"He's alive." No indifferent shrug, but the blue optics dimmed and his character crashed into a building, telling how deeply he feared for his brother.

Haze answered, chipper voice a welcome respite to the overwhelming silence of the rec room. "_What can I do for you, sir?"_

"_I was wondering if there has been any change in Sunstreaker's status?"_

Haze was silent while she researched his information. Optimus stared at the screen, patiently waiting for the junior medic to come back on the line. "_Sir? He's currently in the O.R., with Hacksaw. He says they'll be done within the cycle."_

Optimus gave Sideswipe a long, searching look. The normally observant warrior seemed oblivious to his leader's scrutiny.

"_How much trouble would it be to allow him a visitor when he comes out?"_

Haze didn't quite sputter, allowing a buzz through the line to show her surprise. "_Well, I suppose as long as it's cleared with the senior medic on duty, it's okay for you to see-"_

"_Oh, not me, Haze. I was thinking of someone else."_

By all appearances, Sideswipe remained ignorant to Optimus' scrutiny.

"_Well, he'll be in the recovery room for observation at least a joor. I suppose someone could sit with him if they wanted." _Her tone scorned anyone who could possibly want to hang around the golden warrior. It conveyed the general opinion for the mech's well-being; a sad state for one who fights on the front line and is normally one of the last to leave the battle.

"_I'm certain I know of someone. Contact me when he is cleared for visitors."_

Optimus watched the warrior for a moment longer before turning back to his screen. "Sunstreaker's currently in surgery. He'll be out in approximately a cycle." He scanned the news feeds for any actual _good _news. Having only just come from the battle that seemed to be the current happening, he wanted something to brighten his mood before he headed to recharge.

Sideswipe shifted in his seat, his gaze heavy against Optimus' sensors. Surprise radiated from the mech, clearly not expecting an update of any sort until his brother walked through the doors. "Thanks," he said after half a breem of silence.

Optimus tilted his head toward the warrior in acknowledgment.

They sat there in silence: Optimus staring at the screen, but not really seeing it; Sideswipe continuing his game, but obviously distracted by his commander.

Suddenly, Sideswipe stood, and leaned over, shoving Optimus' arm out of the way and keying in commands with deft fingers. He closed out of the news feed Optimus had been scanning, and activated one of the entertainment programs.

"What are you doing?" Optimus asked, surprised by this unexpectedly rude behavior..

A devilish grin curved the Toughline's mouth, optics narrowed and challenging. "What? Don't think you can beat me in a round of Street Racer?"

Optimus was silent for a moment before he managed an answer. His optics narrowed to hide the smile lighting his eyes. "I can take anything you try to portion out."

Sideswipe sat back down and logged onto the versus mode to challenge Optimus.

The Commander of the Autobot forces selected a Sleektilt to counter his opponent's Speedline, opting for maneuverability over speed. They raced, Sideswipe taunting his leader as they wove their way through the virtual city. Optimus didn't make a sound as he worked through one of the tough obstacle courses on the stage. He heard Sideswipe crash quite a few times, obviously the warrior was too busy watching his opponent's screen rather than his own.

Sideswipe made a sound of protest when Optimus' avatar crossed the finish line first, and he banged a fist against console.

Optimus turned to the warrior, a reprimand on his vocalizer when Sideswipe suddenly spun about to level another challenging stare at him.

"Best two out three?"

Optimus laughed, and accepted the challenge.

Two out of three became three out of five, until they simply lost track of the scoring (well, perhaps Sideswipe hadn't).

Then Optimus' communicator chirped. He jumped, startled out of the game, sending his poor Convoy hurtling over an edge while the tiny Rollerbug it had been chasing careened its way down the street. "Y_es?"_ He didn't quite manage to keep the edge of irritation out of his vocalizer when he answered his comm.

"_Uh, sir?" _Haze sounded startled by her commander's sudden snappishness, stuttering over her words. "_You, uh, asked me to let you know when Sunstreaker was cleared for visitors? Hacksaw said that it's okay as long as they stay out of the way."_

Optimus blinked, straightening as he recalled the message he'd relayed earlier. "_I'll make sure that is thoroughly understood. Thank you, Haze."_

"Is everything okay, Optimus?"

The Convoy turned to regard the red mech watching him. Sideswipe stared at him, game forgotten as he watched his commander with a small measure of concern.

Optimus closed out of the console. "Yes, Sideswipe. I was thinking you need to recharge."

The red mech's optics flashed, and he jerked his chin up. "I'm not getting any recharge until I see Sunstreaker."

Optimus' engine gave a small rev, hidden by the hum of hydraulics as he stood. "Come with me."

Sideswipe opened his mouth, ready to protest, but his lip only curled into a sneer and he obediently followed Optimus out of the rec room. Optimus headed toward the living quarters, amused by Sideswipe's souring temper.

The red mech's steps slowly grew harsher and harsher in the empty hallways.

One of the entrances to the medbay lay between the quarters and rec room, and Optimus didn't stop as he stepped through the doors. He did pause after, noticing that the red mech had stopped at the entrance.

Sideswipe stared blankly at Optimus, looking as though he was just about to walk into a den of ravenous cyberwolves.

Optimus casually turned to face the mech. "Afraid of a few little medics?"

Haze frowned from the drawers she sorted through. "Little?" The Leancross straightened to her full height, her head scraping the ceiling. "Why is _he_ here?" she asked, noticing Sideswipe standing by the entrance.

"Ratchet's not little," Sideswipe monotoned, glaring at the large junior medic.

Optimus chuckled. "Sideswipe's going to sit with Sunstreaker for a little bit, Haze." He leveled a speaking look at Sideswipe. "Sideswipe won't cause any problems or get in the way."

Sideswipe's head whipped toward Optimus in surprise, and his mouth fell open. "N-no, of course not." A faltering smile pulled at his mouth, and his optics sought out his brother.

Optimus nodded sagely, stepping toward the entrance. "I didn't think you would."

"Not him! He shouldn't be here"

Optimus pat Sideswipe on the shoulder, pushing the red mech farther into the medbay. "Go sit with your brother."

"Ratchet is going to blow a fuse!"

"He can direct any problems to me." Optimus waved farewell as the door closed on the sputtering medic.

But he didn't miss the warrior's grin.

This would be one of the times he loved his job. Now he could recharge in peace.

-Fin-


	12. Waiting for the Sun

**Title **Waiting for the Sun  
**Characters** Sunstreaker, Sideswipe  
**Warnings** Two mechs being a little cuddly.  
**Summary** Tarps didn't randomly stick into joints and vents. Or flutter quite so much. Primus, and that fragging tickled. And they didn't…  
**Author's Note** This is a fluff bunny requested by padawan_sponge/rogueraven21. The request was Twins/Prank. Don't know if I managed to keep the fluff. Also, if you're interested, I'm working on a smuttier version of this that will be going up on my LJ, hopefully within the week. **Edit:** Forgot a line.

* * *

Everything felt muffled, as though someone had draped a thin tarp over him from audio horn to shin.

No.

Not a tarp.

Tarps didn't randomly stick into joints and vents. Or flutter quite so much. Primus, and that fragging tickled. And they didn't…

They didn't slagging _smolder _like that!

Sunstreaker shot up despite the protest of unrepaired joints, onlining his optics just in time to wallop his head on the bottom of his brother's bunk. "What the slagging pit is this?" he snarled, rubbing at his head as he gazed around.

Sweet-smelling, organic matter—bright yellow petals surrounding a large center—tumbled off of him and into two semi-neat little piles on either side.

He noticed the motion sensor (sitting within line of sight of his head), just before music crackled over the room's speakers.

_The sun will come out  
__Tomorrow!  
__Betcha bottom dollar that  
__Tomorrow,  
__There'll be Sun!_

Sunstreaker stared at the pile of organic fluff surrounding him, some of them with edges that curled and smoked from coming into contact with the power lines in his joints. He didn't have to ask who did it.

_Just thinkin' about  
__Tomorrow!  
__Clears away the cobwebs,  
__And the sorrow,  
__Till there's none!_

There were only a handful of mechs on the base who could bypass his proximity sensors without setting off any of his various other sensory arrays. Only one of them would be able to drop a load of slagging organic mess on top of him without even alerting his tactile sensors.

_When I'm stuck with a day,  
__That's gray,  
__And lonely,  
__I just stick out my chin,  
__And Grin,  
__And Say!_

Why didn't apply here, considering who was behind this. He knew each and every one of that soon-to-be pit-bound mech's motives, and not a slagging one of them were reason enough for this. These slagging flowers still had dirt on them for booting up cold!

_The sun'll come out  
__Tomorrow!  
__So ya gotta hang on  
_'_Til Tomorrow  
__Come what may…_

Sunstreaker finally moved, snarling as the song continued its bright and cheery conclusion. He stood, spilling sunflowers to the floor.

_Tomorrow! Tomorrow!  
I love ya Tomorrow!  
You're always  
A day away!_

His engine grumbled a complaint from his swift turn, as the last strings of music faded away. He gathered up an armful of the bright yellow flowers and promptly subspaced them. He strode out of the room without a backwards glance at the mess on his bed.

After all, the mech who made it could slagging well clean it up. 2 in the morning, or not.

He didn't need to ping the mech's location. The mech's signal stood out to him like a beacon in an asteroid field. He tracked that slagging mech down, counting each and every twinge through his half-healed systems. Slagger getting him up like this after a four day stay in the med bay.

Sideswipe sat in the rec room, dim optics intent on the screen. Bluestreak sat next to him, leaning his elbows on his thighs to allow his doorwings to hover over the arm of the couch. The gunner's chatter faded in and out over the loud volume of the movie that Sideswipe had on.

Sunstreaker didn't even take the time to notice what movie his brother was watching, except that it had a lot of explosions , and was very loud.

Bluestreak glanced up at Sunstreaker and suddenly excused himself, retreating as though he had a spark shade on his heels. Sunstreaker did not miss the ill-contained, glitching laughter that trailed after the grey mech. No doubt at Sunstreaker's own expense.b

Sunstreaker let him go by without harassment. Any involvement the little mech might have in Sunstreaker's current beflowered state was inconsequential. The real culprit still sat on the worn couch, and even had the audacity to lean his head back and rest the top of his helm on Sunstreaker's torso.

The red twin grinned brightly up at his brother's frown. "Is it tomorrow already?"

Sunstreaker grunted once. Then dumped the contents of his subspace onto his brother.

Bright yellow petals floated to the ground around the unperturbed mech. "How's my sun doing this morning?" he asked, brightly, by all appearances not even noticing his current decoration.

Sunstreaker glowered. "It's fragging 2 AM, and I only got out of the med bay at 11 _last night_. How the frag do you think I am?"

Sideswipe's grin broadened. He reached up and plucked a flower out of his brother's canopy. "I just wanted to make sure you felt loved."

Sunstreaker shifted his weight to one leg and crossed his arms over his chest. "Loved?" The slagging song still cycled merrily through his memory banks.

"Yup!"

Sunstreaker tilted his head down, pursing his lips into a scowl. Sideswipe only continued to beam up at the yellow mech. Sunstreaker sighed, and then stuffed a fistful of sunflowers down his brother's intake.

He turned on his heel and stomped out of the rec room. His fingers ran over his frame, trying to dislodge the last of the annoying pieces of organic waste. He wanted nothing more than to lay down and let his self-repair finish up Ratchet's work.

Feet clattered after him and a body crashed into his, shoving him into the wall. He turned with a menacing growl, but didn't strike as arms wrapped around his torso.

He froze, instead, staring down at the top of his brother's head.

Sideswipe tucked his face into the slope of Sunstreaker's windshield, clinging tightly to the golden frame. "Primus, I hate seeing you slagged like that."

Sunstreaker finally moved, turning completely so that his back rested against the wall. He lay a hand on his brother's shoulder, and pushed the mech back, but only so that he could slide down the wall with a squeal of metal. "Yeah, I hate seeing me like that, too."

Sideswipe didn't waste a moment. As soon as Sunstreaker released the tension in his arm, the red frame smacked back against the golden warrior. He sputtered, huffing a few petals from his lips. "Fragging narcissist."

Sunstreaker made no objection against the abuse of his paint job. He wrapped his arm around his brother's shoulder. His other hand rested against his brother's thigh, comforting fingers stroking the white metal. "Slagging aft."

They stayed like that until the shift change, further words unnecessary. Everything that needed to be said was already known through the bond.


	13. Prowl Says Nay Slash

**Title** Prowl Says Nay!  
**Characters/Pairings** Prowl/Sideswipe, other characters get brief mention.  
**Warnings **Do sparklings need warning?  
**Summary **Sideswipe has an idea. See Title.

* * *

Sideswipe watched little Moonracer dash between her creator units. Her hands grabbed at anything within reach: datapads, energon cubes, knees, feet, shins, hands. Ironhide would shoo her over to Chromia, only to be sent straight back to him. Occasionally she would be sent to Chromedome, and the mech would hoist her in the air (making her squee happily) before setting her loose again, more hyper than before. The red twin glanced at Prowl, knowing the mech to be oblivious to the attention. The black and white wing panels didn't even twitch, normally the surest way to tell the tactician had noticed someone observing him. Sideswipe did consider trying to sneak up on his lover, but decided against it, that would simply give him away.

He looked back over at the sparkling that continued to wreck havoc about the rec room. A few mechs had already left. The femmes had no problem just shooing her away, or even giving Moonracer a portion of their attention, but that was only natural. After all, most femmes had to tolerate the attention (occasionally undivided) of several mechs (usually all at once), a sparkling was considered next to nothing, and dealt with offhand.

Sparklings were becoming less and less common, because of the war. A few hubs still had enough members to create a new spark, as had happened in Chromia's instance, but that had been shortly before she had lost Camshaft, and so would not happen again.  
Sideswipe's optics slid back to Prowl, and he shifted his stance, leaning on the table to whisper toward Prowl, "You wouldn't want one, would you?"

Prowl's doorwings finally twitched and he looked up, brow ridges furrowed in confusion. "What?"

Sideswipe slid closer, bracing his hands along the edge of the table until he could sit right next to the mech's elbow. He grinned at Prowl from over his shoulder. "I asked if you would want one."

Prowl's confused expression didn't lessen, instead it deepened, reaching down and shoving his mouth into a frown. "Want one what?" He finally looked around the room, optics searching for what Sideswipe meant.

The black head tilted toward Chromedome tossing little Moonracer in the air. Prowl looked, and he seemed to lean back, doorwings lifting and posture stating a distaste that not even the lowest grade of energon had ever managed to put there, and they had consumed some fragging low, low grade in their time as soldiers.

Sideswipe watched, waiting for more of a reaction from the tactician. He was certain there would be more, Prowl still hadn't said anything yet.

Sideswipe waited for about a breem, wondering why Prowl was so quiet. Hmm.

Too quiet.

Abnormally quiet.

Alarmingly quiet.

Okay. Sideswipe was starting to get worried, now. "Prowl?"

Prowl stared, but he no longer actually looked at anything in particular, and his doorwings twitched with the rhythmless motions of uncontrolled power surges.

"Oh, slag." Sideswipe turned, his thigh brushing Prowl's upper arm. He touched the white shoulder, and then black on the wing panel. Then he pressed his lips together, forcing the corners of his mouth down, and slammed his hand upside the white helmet.

Prowl rocked forward, chevron bouncing off the table before he jolted back upright, his optics flashing and flickering as his CPU reset.

Prowl turned his stare on the red mech. "You want a sparkling?"

Sideswipe shrugged looking back out at Moonracer. "It's a thought. Haven't you considered it?"

Prowl didn't relent that stare even a micrometer. "You? And a sparkling? With me?"

Sideswipe almost couldn't keep his mouth turned down. "Yeah, that's the general idea."

"Sideswipe, please tell me that I misheard you. Tell me that I have a glitch in my processor. Tell me _something._ Because I know I'm not hearing you say that _you_ want a sparkling."

"Wish I could, Prowl."

Prowl stood, abruptly; shoving Sideswipe to the floor without a thought. "Come with me." A white hand wrapped around Sideswipe's wrist, hauling the warrior up off the floor and straight for the door to the rec room.

Sideswipe didn't have much of a choice, but to follow. "Hey, wait. Just an astrosecond! Where are we going?"

Prowl didn't halt, glaring at all the far too inquisitive mechs watching them with barely contained amusement, Moonracer safely tucked in  
Ironhide's arms. He didn't even look back at Sideswipe. "We are going to Ratchet," he said, as though it should be perfectly obvious.

"Oh, really? What if I don't want to go see Ratchet?"

Prowl jerked on Sideswipe's arm once, particularly harsh. "Did I ask?"

Sideswipe hit a corner, Prowl not seeming to notice, but Sideswipe knew better. "Okay then. _Why_ are we going to see Ratchet? And I'll have you know, that hurt." Sideswipe rubbed at his now dented nasal ridge.

"_You_ are getting a spark chamber seal installed."

Sideswipe stumbled a few steps. "What? Hey, wait a breem! It doesn't work like that. We'd need a femme! And more mechs!"

Prowl stopped, finally. He turned and shoved Sideswipe into the wall with one finger on the red chestplate. "This is _you!_ The _last_ time you had a brilliant _thought_. It did not remain merely _thought_ for long. You defy logic in nearly all things, why not _this_ as well? I refuse to risk it." With that, Prowl turned and barged on ahead.

"Whoawhoawhoawhoa! But what if I don't want to do that? I mean, come one that was _one_ time." The words jittered out of his vocalizer, staggering with the rhythm of his footsteps.

"One time," Prowl scoffed. "If you—_you_—are considering a sparkling, then I see no other option. Particularly if you want to remain with me."

"Prowl, hey Prowl. Hey!" Prowl didn't stop this time, didn't turn. "Look, I was kidding. It was a joke. Just a simple little joke. You don't have to do this really."

Still Prowl did not stop.

"Come on Prowl. Please?"

Mechs watched them in confusion as they strode down the residential hall.

"Please? Prowl? Prooooowwwwwwwwwwl!"

* * *

**Author's Note** Consider a spark chamber seal like a Cybertronian IUD and condom rolled into one. I originally wanted to stick this into one of my other verses, but this Prowl just didn't seem right for any of them. I needed a little humor, and this popped in my head.


	14. Spare Time

**Title** Spare Time  
**Character **Prowl  
**Summary **Even Prowl needs some downtime.  
**Author's Note** Comes from one too many workaholic Prowls in fics.

No incoming communications? Check.

Supplies recently restocked, and no propositions to weigh patched through? Check and check.

No Decepticon incursions for at least a decacycle? Glorious check.

Prowl sat down at his desk and pulled out a datapad. He leaned back in his chair, and stretched his legs out in front of him. He keyed a few commands into the console, and earth music poured through the speakers; synthetic bleeps and beeps that they called 'techno.' He pulled a cube of energon from his subspace and sipped at the corner, relishing the flavor.

Cube in hand he quietly read the Earth newsfeed Wheeljack had scanned onto the datapad. Electronic beats vibrating his plating, he could almost believe that he was home.


	15. Grin and Bear It

**Title **Grin and Bear It  
**Characters **Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, Bluestreak, Ratchet, Prowl, Jazz, Smokescreen (Pairings are there only if you want to see them?)

**Summary **It's cold outside.

**Author's Notes** Gift for Tiamat1972, cause she's had a hard night and day.

"Brrrr, why does it have to b-b-be so fragging c-c-c-cold on this planet?"

Sunstreaker sipped at his hot energon, watching his brother's antics with amusement. Not that he showed it. Nooo, he couldn't have his rep ruined like that. He made sure that the scowl didn't leave his face with a simple code inserted into his facial controls.

Bluestreak huddled between the twins, his doorwing a source of warmth, much to his discomfort. They gave off heat that he would have much preferred to keep inside. "Could be worse. L-least it's not snowing."

Sunstreaker on the other hand appreciated the warmth offered by the gunner's panels. He didn't lean into the mech like his brother though. See that rep of his just wouldn't let him do that, but he did sit back, so that the panel rested against his left shoulder. It didn't make much difference, but—combined with his hot batch of high grade—it was enough.

Prowl sat at a table with the other officers, his doorwings stretched out to cover as much of both Ratchet and Optimus as he could. Perhaps the most demonstrative he'd ever seen the tactician. Smokescreen sat on Prime's other side, his doorwing extended over Prime's other shoulder. Ironhide sat a good meter away, scowl on his face, no doubt stubborn pride kept him from accepting the other panel.

Wheeljack had mentioned making something to keep the 'play room' warm for the Dinobots, and no doubt Grimlock would be in there to make sure he wasn't up to any of his 'Autobot tricks.'

As if anyone would bother.

The two gestalt-brat teams sat bunched together at one of the other tables. An Aerialbot sat between each Protectobot, offering the warmth of their own wings for the wingless mechs. They laughed amongst themselves, energon steaming gently in the mugs in their hands.

Primus fraggit! It was slagging cold!

Jazz could never walk into a room unnoticed. Anywhere he went, heads would turn, optics would follow, audio receptors would tune in.

So, it was only natural that even Sunstreaker would notice the black and white mech's entrance. He lifted his head and watched the mech parade into the rec room as though he owned the place. He threw grins about the place as though the were energon goodies to be parceled freely. His distinctive voice called greetings to his closest friends, and general hellos to everyone else.

Sunstreaker's optics narrowed as Jazz drew closer. He turned away before the mech plunked himself down next to Sideswipe.

"Awww, is my Siders all cold?"

Sunstreaker slid a narrow glare in their direction as Bluestreak leaned away from Sideswipe and Jazz's overwhelming presence.

Jazz pulled the slightly taller warrior toward closer.

"Yes, yes-s-s I a-a-...what the frag is that, Jazz?"

Sideswipe's question drew Sunstreaker's full attention to the mech. His brother was staring at Jazz's arms, and so Sunstreaker's optics turned down.

He reset his visual processing center just to make sure he was really seeing what he thought he was seeing. "Do you have some kind of _organic_ _rust_ all over you? What fragging pit is that?"

Jazz stuck his arms out, displaying the pink fuzz that covered his arms. "They're wraps, Sunny. Got a scarf too." He proudly tugged on the fabric wrapped around his neck. "There's mittens too, but my fingers ain't quite suitable for 'em. Was a nice thought, though." A little ball of fuzzy fabric hung off each arm, swinging freely.

A sound from the officer's table drew their attention.

Ratchet stared at Jazz's newest pieces of hardware. "If you get that junk tangled up in your joints, don't come running to me to get it out."

Jazz grinned. "Don't worry, I didn't have any plan to call on ya, at all. That's what First Aid is for, ain't it?"

The young mech shrank down in the midst of his brothers and the Aerialbots.

Sunstreaker couldn't seem to tear his eyes off those atrocities Jazz had put on. Primus, how was anyone supposed to walk around looking like that? He'd always thought Jazz had better taste than that.

Sideswipe had one of Jazz's arms in his hands and was in the middle of an examination of the covering. "Does it work?"

Jazz grinned. "Funnily enough, it does. At least, it's better than stealin' someone else's heat." Energy spiked; a mech accessing his subspace pocket. "Got one fer you too, Sides."

He moved too quickly for Sunstreaker to see. Only, that suddenly Sideswipe's head was covered by the same pink fuzz over Jazz's arm and around his neck.

The red warrior blinked stupidly before his hand reached up and patted his head.

Jazz sat back with a big grin on his face.

Sideswipe felt along the fabric, pulling at the strange material, until he at last encountered a ball at the top. His face twisted a little, a frown crossed with a grimace, and he pulled at the little ball. "What the frag is this?"

Jazz swatted Sideswipe's hand away. "Don't do that. You'll break it!"

The warrior's hand fell away and the little ball fell to dangle next to his cheek guard. Sideswipe's face went through the strangest contortions as he tried to see the thing dangling next to his head.

Most of the room couldn't seem to tear their optics away from the spectacle that Sideswipe had become.

Bluestreak finally managed to shut his mouth. "Where did you get that? That's not something like you'd see on Cybertron. I mean, we don't even put our string together like that. So that must mean the humans made it, right?"

"Ayup, Blue. Some concerned human charities hated seein' us runnin around with no way to stay warm, and so they made these fer us. There's a couple of boxes of 'em in the security room, if ya can pry them from Red's fingers."

"You did not happen to see anything that might fit our wing panels, did you Jazz?" Prowl suddenly asked.

Sunstreaker hadn't even thought the mech would care to pay any attention to their conversation at all.

Jazz tilted his head thoughtfully. "Sorry, I didn't think to check for that. Maybe if we asked nicely enough, they'd make some?"

Smokescreen's optics brightened in interest. "Well, it certainly couldn't hurt to ask."

Prowl nodded once in agreement.

There was a pause in the general hubbub of the rec room. Then suddenly every mech was scrambling to be the first at the contents of those boxes.

Sunstreaker scowled at the idiots that wanted the fragging ridiculous looking things. His gaze slid to the left, where his brother and Jazz sat.

Sideswipe had tugged the hat over his optics. Jazz, on the other hand, laughed and tried to pull the hat back up.

Sunstreaker stared at that pink atrocity, his imaging software already compiling how it would fit on his own head, over his audio vents. The vents that gave off so much of his frame's heat.

…

"Is pink the only color they come in?"


	16. Purple VibratorSlash?

**Title **Sideswipe/Prowl/Purple Vibrator  
**Characters **Sideswipe, Prowl, ?  
**Summary **Just what _is_ Sideswipe doing, anyways?  
**Warnings** Disturbing use of a mech  
**Author's Note **Bet my regulars thought I'd forgotten about this, or even that I had left the fandom completely. Well, ha! I haven't. Was working on a long project, and sorta finished it. Now I'm trying to recover with drabbles. I have quite a few written (for two different fandoms), so let's see how often I can update, yes?

And, about this fic. I recently did a 'ALL YOUR PROMPTS ARE BELONG TO ME' post on my livejournal. This was the request that sparked that post. Written for Hellsangelcurse.

* * *

Prowl searched for the red Lamborghini, having noticed his absence from the general milling about the battlefield.

He found Sideswipe crouched over an assortment of scattered parts, no doubt from some hapless Decepticon victim (Constructicon, according to the coloring). Prowl approached the warrior, optics bright with interest in what would hold Sideswipe's attention for so long. He couldn't see what the mech was doing, as the red back faced him.

As he approached the warrior, Prowl became aware of a muffled noise. Like machinery cutting on and off. Whirr. Pause. Whiiiirrrrr. Pause.

MMPH!

Hmm, that one sounded like a protest.

Prowl thought he should say something. at that point; "Sideswipe, what are you doing? You should have reported for clean up."

Sideswipe turned his head to glance toward the officer. "Come and see this, Prowl!"

MMMMMMPH!

Whiiiiiiiiiir

Prowl hesitated, but only because of the mech that he was dealing with. He braced himself, doorwings flicking back to counter any surprise from the warrior.

Sideswipe crouched over what seemed to be the remains of Hook's boom and winch. They had been dismantled, the cabling removed. Prowl could see the wiringtrailing from Sideswipe's hands. He'd wrapped around something?

Whiiiiiiiir.

MPH!

The source of the strange noises, apparently.

Sideswipe sat back, and Prowl could finally see what the mech was holding.

Angry red optics glared up at Prowl. Cabling wrapped around a tiny purple frame.

Sideswipe's grin grew even bigger. "Watch what happens when I do... this." He pressed his finger to a particular juncture of seams.

Prowl's doorwings tilted back even further, and his jaw hinges went slack. "Sideswipe what the slag are you doing?"

Sideswipe's grin grew even bigger. "Watch what happens when I do... this." He pressed his finger to a particular juncture of seams.

Whiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiir.

Sideswipe's entire hand vibrated with as the mech's pile driver motors activated.

MMMMPH!

"Look, he's a vibrocon!"

Prowl still couldn't find the words for what Sideswipe was doing.

Click.

Whiiiiiirr.

MMMMMMPH!

Click.

Whiiiir.

MMMPH!

Snickering in a way that only Sideswipe could manage, that mixed both mischeviousness and evil plotting, the red mech turned toward the officer and pressed the vibrating casseticon against Prowl's thigh.

Prowl stared down at the Decepticon touching his person. Somehow, he didn't think they had a regulation for Assault With Decepticon in their lists. Prowl might have to do something about that

Click.

Whiiiir.

MMPH!

Snicker.


	17. Discipline Slash

**Title **Prowl/Sideswipe/Discipline  
**Characters **Prowl/Sideswipe  
**Summary **Prowl sorta has a contest with Sides...  
**Author's Note** Written for Ilyusha. Yes, do expect daily updates, or something close enough to daily.

* * *

Sideswipe ran his lips down Prowl's neck cables. The sharp twang of sparks followed his path. Lifting his head away, Sideswipe started at the top and worked his mouth back down again. He added a stroke of his glossa this time, a teasing touch interspersed by zaps and shocks.

Prowl shuddered, hands clenching and unclenching on Sideswipe's legs. He fought the overload building in his circuits, pouring himself through Sideswipe's systems. Determined to make his lover overload first.


	18. Distraction Threesome

**Title **Red Alert/Inferno/Firestar/Distraction (NtTverse)  
**Summary **Inferno seeks out his hub**  
Author's Note **Written for Ilyusha.

* * *

Inferno walked through the door, and tossed his towel onto the shelf that held medals and honors given to their hub. He didn't pause, but headed straight for the washroom that Red Alert's rank had granted them. Water pattered against the wall and floor in an unending stream. He picked out the high-pitched chatter of a stressed Red Alert, and his spark pulsed with Firestar's anguish.

He stormed into shower, and pounded his fist into the tiled wall once.

Both mech and femme jumped, startled by his suddenly out-of-character outburst.

"Both of ya need to turn yer thermal regulators down a few notches. Ya did your best." He paused and grimaced as he recalled the screams of sparks evaporating into flames. "Everyone did. Nobody coulda known that Megatron would be so psycho as to launch a missile at a nursery."

A fresh wave of agony swept over the hubmates, spiraling out of their center as Firestar wept openly for the sparklets lost before they'd even had a chance to start. Inferno wrapped her up, including Red Alert in his massive embrace. Then he stood and powered down the shower so that he could drag his bonded and hubmate out. Highgrade would solve nothing, but the emptiness of an overpowered processor was better than the memories of battle, both old and new, and lives lost.


	19. Car Lines Slash

**Title **Car Lines  
**Characters** Jazz/Sideswipe (Kinda sorta)  
**Summary **Lame pickup lines FTW! (yeah, see what I did there? Pickup lines? Car lines? huhuhuhuh? Oh, never mind. Go read)  
**Author's Notes **For Flamingmarsh. Prompt Jazz/Sideswipe/Can I Change Your Oil, Baby?

* * *

Sideswipe spun the cheery little blue femme in a circle and then changed her for another femme, larger and pointier, and green rather than blue. He danced wild spins and exotic circles until his equilibrium sensors could no longer tell left from right. He staggered away from his dance partners, not really caring where he went as long as it was away from the gyrating mass of bodies.

He found the bar by virtue of crashing into one of its patrons. Sideswipe fought for his balance with flailing hands heedless of the mass of white and black they struck.

"Whoa there, buddy. Looks like yer a little deep in yer highgrade." Black hands caught the corners of his chest plate, and Sideswipe caught a glimpse of a blue visor over a playful grin.

"Haven't had a cube," the warrior mumbled, shaking his head to force a reset of his sensors. The world stopped spinning and he blinked his optics down at the mech holding him steady. "Hey, you're shiny."

The mech laughed. "Not as much as I used t' be. Think you've scratched m' paint up real good."

That prompted a frown. "Now you're sounding like my brother."

The visor tilted, like the arching of a brow ridge.

Slag, that was the last person he wanted to think about. "Never mind. So… what would it take to getcha to let me change your oil?"

Another laugh, and the black hands shoved the warrior away. "Y' don't even know my name!"

Sideswipe laughed with the mech. "So… what's your name so that I can change your oil, sparklet."

Still laughing the other mech spun Sideswipe about and disappeared into the crowd.


	20. Wild Ride

**Title **Wild Ride  
**Characters **Ironhide, Warpath  
**Summary **Two Autobots team up in a battle  
**Author's note **Written for Flamingmarsh.

* * *

Tanks weren't known for their speed. Then again, Ironhide wasn't the fastest Autobot out there. What they both lacked in speed, however, they more than made up for in sturdiness. It was pure coincidence that landed the minibot on the back of the van. Oversized, tritanium treads dug into the red metal as Warpath caught his balance.

Ironhide didn't stop, and tires squealing past the endurance of anything Earth could have beared.

Warpath turned his sensors back, and yelped for Ironhide to go faster. "He's on our BLAMtail! Faster! KAPOW! Faster!"

Bullets tore up the ground around them as both Decepticon trines targeted the van and his tank rider.

"Ah cain't go any fastah! Why don'tcha turn yer turret an' actually do somethin' useful fer a change."

Warpath didn't hesitate, but swung his massive gun about and started blasting the energon charged shots at the planes.

Ironhide lurched to one side, grunting as the minibot's massive treads dug into his roof. Every blast knocked the van off his path, sometimes straight into one of the clouds of dirt and dust thrown up by the impact of bullets. He didn't dare stop as the ground continued to explode around him and bullets rattled off his plating.

The Coneheads roared over him, and turned for another strafing run.

Warpath's turret swiveled to track jets. BANG! KA-POW! Two strikes dead-on the profiles they so kindly presented. Dirge and Thrust both fell out of the sky, wings smoking and unstable from the holes blown into them.

"WHOOOOOOEEEEE! COME ON AND GET SOMEBLAMMORE DECEPTICREEPS!"

Ironhide whooped along with Warpath, and led the Decepticons back to the waiting Autobot snipers.


	21. Parking Tickets

**Title **Parking Tickets  
**Character/Pairing **Ratchet, Prowl  
**Summary **Prowl confronts Ratchet on an issue he's noticed.  
**Author's Note** Written for Tiamat1972. I consider this set in my Elita-verse (Center of It All).

* * *

Prowl stopped in front of Ratchet's desk, his hands full of little pieces of paper mache. "I thought Sideswipe was bad about tickets."

Ratchet looked up, head canted to the side, brow ridge lifted in surprise.

The XO held out the bundle of paper mache.

Curious, Ratchet picked up one of the stray pieces that had fluttered to his desktop He blinked down at it and refocused his optics. It wasn't a random piece of paper. He put it back down and looked up at Prowl with narrowed optics. "So take care of them."

Prowl dropped the entire bundle onto Ratchet's desk. "The question I have is just i_why/i _you, an officer, have so many."

Ratchet picked the tiny piece of paper up and glared at it in an attempt to focus on the teeny print. He correlated the date in his databanks and harumphed as he picked up another scraplet of paper. Then another. And another.

"These were all days I was aiding troubled humans..." He squinted at the teeny writing. "These are from those hospitals... what the slag...?"

Prowl crossed his arms under his bumper. "Ratchet, would you kindly recall that you are not a licensed medical vehicle. You don't have their permission to park in those spaces." The officer tilted his head. "Why do you think I don't pursue criminals without express permission from both the human authorities and Optimus?)

Ratchet sputtered. "Of all the stupid, slagging... What the frag do you expect me to do?"

Prowl's doorwings twitched. "They are willing to simply ask that you perform community service rather than force you to pay these fines."

"Oh, how nice of them."

"You will be assisting the local squads on your own time, servicing them as an ambulance. You will be given the proper licensing for this as well."

"..." Ratchet facepalmed.


	22. Window Shopping Slash

**Title **Window Shopping  
**Characters/Pairings **Jazz/Sideswipe  
**Summary **Enough is never enough!  
**Author's Note **Written for Tia. Could be considered a continuation of 'Change Your Oil', much farther in the future.

* * *

Sideswipe always thought he was the childish* one. It never failed to surprise him when Jazz would suddenly squeal like a sparkling and pounce on a display, as though he intended on smashing straight through the holographic device.

"Oh, I've always wanted one'a these!"

Sideswipe eyed the display and rolled his head. "Don't you have enough bass as it is?"

"What? Never! I ain't gonna be happy till these things are weapons!"

Sideswipe blew a burst of static from his vocalizer. "I would think you would be pretty slagging close by now."

"Nope, still gotta few gigajoules to go before I'm there."

Sideswipe snorted from his vents and snagged a shoulder mag-plate. "No. I don't have the funds for that right now." He did however make a note of it for next Primval though.

*translated from the Cybertronian equivalent


	23. Flying

**Title** Flying  
**Characters **Prowl, Ratchet  
**Summary **What the slag is Prowl doing  
**Warning **TFs as Dragons  
**Author's Note **Written for Silver_bells13. Takes place sometime after Biological Imperatives. I may not mesh completely with the story as it stands, I'm still working on rethinking things :) This is also one of the reasons why I didn't simply combine all these prompts into one 'chapter'. It got rather long. Oh, and no update tomorrow.

* * *

Ratchet walked out of the Ark, stepping down from the chitinous roots of the Ark. His claw-tips scraped the hard enamel that had protected their resting place for countless vorn. His chest expanded, airless, and his jaws opened wide in an involuntary yawn. He stretched out legs aching and cramped from sleeping in the circle of Optimus' body

**WHOMP.**

Air exploded from his nostrils in a surprised snort. He looked about their small field trying to find the source of the noise.

The sound of claws on stone drew the medic's attention back, to the niche where the giant roots that secured the Ark to the mountain side disappeared into the rock. A massive stalk and even more massive flower bloomed above his head, a sentient plant that provided them their 'eye in the sky'.

A black-tipped tail disappeared over the sentry ledge and Ratchet frowned. Prowl wasn't scheduled for sentry duty, was he? His organic processor churned, but came up with nothing. His fuel tank grumbled a complaint, and he knew he wouldn't be able to think straight until something went down his throat.

Prowl could wait a few breem.

Ratchet stepped over to the corral of horses provided by the elves in exchange for their protection. He pulled a screaming mare out, and then switched to automatic, rather than pay attention to the creature dying in his jaws.

He had the horse in two pieces when a streak of black and white flashed across his peripheral vision.

**WHOMP.**

The medic lifted his head, his mouth filled with flesh and the sweet-strange tang of blood, and he blinked at the mech-beast that lay across the field. That hadn't been there before.

Ratchet straightened, tossing his head back. His ventilators closed off in reaction to the mass sliding down his tracheal tubing.

The black and white mech-beast, rose and shook grass and twigs out of his mane. The long neck twisted about and Prowl glared up at the ledge.

Ratchet shook the food the rest of the way down, and licked at the edge of his mouth to wipe away the coppery remains of his meal. Grass swished under his feet as he moved forward. It didn't take a genius to figure out what had just happened. Though he could not seem to puzzle out just _why_ the tactician had done that.

Prowl's head snapped about, his long neck lashing about like the crack of a whip. Air hissed through his teeth, but he merely shook his mane out again and blinked at Ratchet with his shoulder spines up. A look that clearly conveyed his full intent to land nasal ridge first in the grass. He swiped his tongue sensor at the soft spot between his nasal openings, no doubt to soothe the sting left from his 'intended' hard landing.

"That was graceful..."

Prowl snorted, and and lifted his long snout. "I am not sure I know what you are talking about." The long body snaked about and headed for the mountainside again.

Ratchet reached out his short tail and scooped the remains of his meal toward him. He finished the other half of the horse in one bite, watching as the other mech-beast climbed up to the ledge.

Prowl paused and turned to glare at the current sentry.

Hound ducked his head and looked away. _I see nothing,'_ he seemed to be saying.

The much shorter mech-beast gathered himself for a brief moment, and then launched himself off the cliff.

The spines on Prowl's shoulders stood out like stunted wings, and Ratchet stared in disbelief as the tactician seemed to catch air and glide for a moment, only to falter and crash with a mighty **WHOMP**.

The air left Ratchet's ventilators, and he hurried over to the long form lying prone on the ground. When he finally managed a breathe, the becoming-familiar scent of mech-beast filled his airways. Along with it came a sense of minor damage (dents and dings), of crushed microscopic fuel lines. But nothing that would be long-term or fatal, thank Primus. "What the frag are you doing? Do you have an irresistable urge to see if you can reach the Well of Allsparks from this Primus-forsaken place? Why the slag are you trying to fly? Didn't Sideswipe's demonstration show how little we know of the way these bodies work?"

Prowl lifted his head on his long neck and frowned at the medic. His mane waved behind him, and the shadow behind his neck gave the illusion of more mass. "First of all I was not attempting to fly, that would be sheer foolishness. I do not have nearly the amount of lift required for full flight." His shoulder spines twitched up and then lowered again. "These are more like stabilizers than true wings. I am simply attempting to test the limits of how high and how far they will take me." He paused, and his head drew back as though he was about to strike, and Ratchet found his head ducking low, his fuel pump thumping a staccato rhythm in his chest. Prowl eyed the larger mech-beast, and the lithe tactician deflated, like the lessening of tension on coils. The long snout dipped toward Ratchet, a pressure on the medic's senses. A rumble, the moist caress of tongue sensor across pebbly hide, and Prowl nudged at Ratchet's neck. "I am sorry. I did not intend to worry you."

Ratchet turned his head, the bulging flesh of his oversized neck brushing the grass. His own tongue sensor swept out to lick at the base of Prowl's jaw.

Prowl rumbled deep in his chest again and nudged at Ratchet's neck again. "Stop that. I am not upset with you. I am merely frustrated that I cannot work this body with the efficiency I prefer."

Ratchet hefted himself off his hands and twisted his head to look back at the cliff a good ten of Prowl's lengths up. "Have you thought about conferring with Wheeljack about the matter?"

The red chevron dipped down, and Prowl stared at the ground with his jaws set in a frown. His shoulder spines flexed behind him.

Ratchet couldn't help but smile. Despite their differences in appearance, their personalities still remained intact. And Prowl disliked criticizing another officer so openly as this. "'Jack would have a hard time blowing you up in these forms. We haven't even found any volatile chemicals on this planet, yet."

The tip of Prowl's tail slapped against the ground. The tactician levelled a speaking look on the medic. "He contaminated his systems with a byproduct of his own body, I believe my leeriness is warranted in this case. No matter his form, he _is_ still Wheeljack."

Laughter rumbled from the medic's chest, and he nipped at the scaled neck. "Coming from the mech that's been throwing himself off a cliff, I don't believe you have much room to talk."

Prowl snorted. "I knew exactly what I was doing, so hush. You only had one of those beasts, and you cannot tell me that was enough."

Ratchet stretched his legs and poised to turn. He glanced back to shake his chevron at Prowl. "Fine, then, but I have an 'I told you so' ready for when you manage to damage yourself. "

A scoffing snort answered the medic, and the grass swished under the lithe body, and claws scrabbled on rock.

Ratchet caught another horse, and settled in to wait until Prowl had satisfied his foolishness, or managed to damage himself. He wondered which would come first.


	24. There Are Worse Things

**Title **There Are Worse Things  
**Characters **Mikaela, Ironhide  
**Summary **"That was very ill-advised."  
**Author's Notes **Written for Cazcatharsis (can't remember her name o_o). Prompt was Mikaela/Ironhide/Aliens(the movie). I tried to do something that wouldn't be expected. Sorry about the gap in updating, RL, and then computer issues distracted me. Aren't gonna be too many more of these left to post anyways. So get them while they're hot.

* * *

Massive jaws snapped close bare inches from her arm.

Mikaela spat a curse and turned her rifle to blow a hole in the stupid alien's just as massive head.

She was _not_ prepared for a hand to come out of nowhere, and snatch her off the ground. She caught sight of the giant barrel that Ironhide called his gun, stuffed into the shark-like mouth of the creature. A muffled boom, and the monster blew apart, its bits flying outward in a disgusting arc.

"That was very ill-advised." Ironhide still hadn't set Mikaela down. Instead, he tucked her against his chest armor, and sprinted across the battlefield.

Curling her lips as she picked bits of gooey alien remains off her skin and clothes and the rifle. "What? You just did it!"

The mech harrumphed, rumbling in his chest. "My weapon cauterizes the blood vessels when it strikes."

She glared up at the black mech, finally having gotten the last bit of gunk off her. "So mine's a little messier, so what?"

The mech didn't answer immediately. He spun about suddenly, and his free hand snagged a 'sharkticon' right off its tinny legs and threw it into one of the Quintessons' giant war machines. He turned, then, and resumed his sprint, tearing up the desert ground with his feet. "Yours would have resulted in acid getting everywhere. Worse than rust."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Mikaela spat back, slamming a fist on the mech's chest.

Again, instead of answering, Ironhide transformed, squeezing her chest painfully as he pulled her into his cabin. His tires hit the dirt and his engine roared mightily, and dust and dirt flew up behind them in great chunks.

"Why are we running?" she yelled at the dashboard.

The treads caught, and the big black truck lurched forward. "Their blood is made of acid."

Her head snapped forward, nearly slamming her face into his steering wheel, and she knew she'd be aching tomorrow. "What? You mean they're like… Aliens?"

The truck was silent for a moment, though his engine never stopped and the terrain passed at an alarming speed. " I think that is a rhetorical question."

Mikaela scrunched her face up in confusion, arms braced to keep her as still as possible in the wildly moving vehicle. "Huh? No. I mean Aliens, like the movie 'Aliens'." She was about to go more into depth when the black mech interrupted her.

"Oh yes, those Aliens. Yes, they have acid like those, but they don't have facehuggers or chestbursters like in the movie. Their method of reproduction is much worse."

She opened her mouth to ask how.

"_Think_ about that question before you ask it."

And her mouth obediently snapped close. One should always listen to Ironhide, lest he lay the smacketh down. She thought for a moment, but it didn't take long for her to flinch bodily from the idea. "Okay, yeah." Ew. "So, we're running, why, again?"

"The Ark is in firing range." He hit a bump, that sent him sailing a good few feet before landing with a jolt that nearly sent her face back into the steering wheel. "You may want to put your seatbelt on."

Mikaela shoved her feet against his floorboards and pulled the strap across her body. "Optimus isn't even going to try reasoning with these things?"

The mech fairly growled, and swerved suddenly. The other Autobots came into view then, and the truck headed right for their line. "There is no reasoning with them. Only extermination."


	25. Lick It Better

**Title **Lick It Better  
**Characters **Prowl, Sideswipe  
**Okami 'verse** Dragon-verse  
**Summary **Post battle, and Sideswipe's had another crash.  
**Author's Notes** Written for Paleodex. Prowl/Sideswipe/Kiss it Better was the prompt. Yeah, I know, no mention of Dragon-verse, but I couldn't resist. Also, dragon-verse fics tend to be lengthy. This also should help explain Prowl and Sideswipe's relationship in this verse. Does it?

* * *

Sideswipe hissed as he pulled himself from the river. His tail twitched behind him, water burning in the gashes and scratches from his latest flight attempt. His wings ached from branches snatching at them, and Ratchet had snarled that he should thank Primus that he hadn't broken any of the delicate structures inside his wings, because he wasn't certain that he could correctly repair them.

His internal systems ached at the point where he'd slammed into one of the larger branches on the tree.

He lay on the bank of the river, unwilling to move, even though his fuel tank added to his unease with a grumble of its own. The wind cycled toward him, and he could smell the stupid beasts in the pen. But he didn't want to move so much as a limb.

Something passed over him, and landed with a thump.

Sideswipe's optics snapped open at the smell of sweet copper. Hooves dangled in front of him, and he snatched at the dainty little legs.

The creature attached to the legs fell on his long, pointed nasal ridge. He dragged it closer and tore into the soft insides, gulping down mouthfuls of flesh. He didn't need to look to know who had dropped this gift. He'd recognize the mech-beast's smell anywhere. Sideswipe lifted his snout and stretched out his neck. He whined and licked at Prowl's jaw hinge in appreciation. It didn't feel _r__ight_ taking this from Prowl, who was his superior.

"Eat."

Permission granted, Sideswipe made no further argument and worked over the rest of the remains. His thick hide twitched with the weight of Prowl's gaze, and he spared a few glances for the other mech-beast.

Prowl waited patiently, still standing on all four feet, and wing-things stiff on his shoulders. Only the tentacle sensors dragging on the ground gave any indication of his exhaustion. Long gashes and missing scales marred his otherwise perfect shine.

Sideswipe hadn't seen Prowl after the battle. Then again he'd been preoccupied with helping Ironhide carry Bluestreak and Jazz back. Then he had stood watch over his brother until Ratchet had a chance to get to him. Ratchet had merely ensured that Sideswipe had sustained no serious damage, before he moved to the next mech-beast with a promise to heal his scratches on the next day cycle.

Sideswipe cleaned the flesh off the bones of the creature, and licked the last taste of flesh off the white struts. He lifted his head to regard the officer. It seemed to him that Ratchet hadn't gotten to Prowl yet.

"Are you coming in?"

Sideswipe slid his thin lids open—he hadn't even realized that his optics had closed- and blinked at the officer. Prowl repeated his question. Sideswipe grunted, unwilling to move his sore body, even though the mud was cold underneath him. He didn't know if he could move, even if he wanted to. His meal weighed heavily in his torso, and he didn't know if he had the strength to drag himself so much as a megayard.

"I cannot carry you, and the others who could are already in recharge. Neither can I allow you to remain outside and exposed to potential spies. The Decepticons would welcome any chance to eliminate you."

"I want another of those horse things," Sideswipe grumbled, and his tail slapped the ground. "Don't think I could move if I wanted, anyways. I hurt too much."

"The Ark will be sealing itself, and it is best if we are on the inside."

Sideswipe slapped his tail again, stifling the grumbling whine that rumbled out of his vocalizer. "We thrashed the Con's tails, no one's gonna bother us tonight."

Prowl didn't reply for so long that Sideswipe turned his head to make sure the white mech-beast still stood there.

Prowl had moved closer, in the time since Sideswipe had last looked. His long nasal ridge hovered close to Sideswipe's shoulder and the airway openings flared wide with each loud ventilation.

Sideswipe found himself pressing against the cool mud of the riverbank, his mouth pulling back into a grimace. He fought the urge to reach up and lick at Prowl's jaw, he hated seeming like a beggar.

Prowl rumbled deep in his chest, and his tongue flicked out to swipe at Sideswipe's wet hide.

The warrior stiffened, uncertain as to the meaning of this display, as Prowl licked him again, in a different area. The officer pressed up against Sideswipe's thigh, a warm, reassuring presence, against the growing chill of the night cycle. Every lick eased some of the tension from the warrior's frame, and Sideswipe found his optic covers sliding close: first one, then the other. It occurred to him (in some part of his processor that still functioned logically) that Prowl was licking at his damage. Something he'd seen the officer do for Bluestreak, shortly after the gunner had awakened.

Whatever the reason, Sideswipe found himself relaxing under the attention; his processor lulled into something like a light recharge from the constant strokes of Prowl's tongue. It made his aches and pain fade away into only a dull throb that he could easily ignore. And for the first time in a very, very long time, Sideswipe felt completely safe, even without the presence of his brother nearby. When Prowl nudged him to get up and led him toward the Ark, Sideswipe stumbled along and curled up the first chance he got as the Ark sealed itself shut.

Prowl still didn't leave him, but draped his lithe frame over and around the warrior. He continued his caresses then, soft and soothing, a straight line of relaxation down his spinal column and between his wing shoulders.

The world drifted away, and Sideswipe slipped into recharge, cradled by Prowl's soothing presence.


	26. Fresh Paint Slash

**Title **Fresh Paint  
**Pairing **Prowl/Sideswipe  
**Okami 'verse –** Ever-Twined (Just a Little of Your Attention, Please?)  
**Summary **There are some things Prowl just cannot resist.  
**Author's Notes**- Written for Paleodex. Prowl/Sideswipe/Fresh paint. This is before the bonding. I am borrowing an idea from Tiamat1972 a bit, too... Also, it's not for Prowl, it's for some important officials. Can you tell this got a little out of hand? XD

Prowl knew that Sideswipe would be the first to admit that he was not the most graceful mech. The red twin could move, but only when it came to fighting. He couldn't turn a step on the dance floor, and he lumbered rather than walked. So, Prowl didn't take immediate note of the warrior's awkward stance, or the way he swung his arms away from his chest.

Then he caught the distinct aroma of new paint, and he turned to look around the room, trying to find the source for that sharp, sweet scent.

That was when he took note of Sideswipe's posture, and the odd gleam of his paint. It seemed to absorb the light rather than truly reflect it as it should.

Prowl's focus centered on that red chest plate, and he took the first few steps over to the table where Sideswipe stood talking to his seated friends. But Prowl didn't even have a chance to touch the mech before the black head whipped about and the blue optics blinked inquisitively at Prowl.

"My office," Prowl snapped with all the authority he could muster over the cranking of his engine. He turned on his heel and strode out of the rec room, failing to even pick up the cube he'd come for in the first place.

He would get it later, he wasn't that depleted, only trying to top off. He had something more important to attend to first.  
Sideswipe had a fresh coat of paint.

Prowl loved the feel of wet paint under his fingers, and there was something about the smell and the way it broke down in his chemical receptors that drove him absolutely crazy.

Sideswipe strode into the office, although, strode may not be the right word for it. He couldn't exactly stride with his arms held out like that, and his knees bent, leaving him swaggering like some character from those 'spaghetti westerns' Ratchet liked so much.

The warrior had a look of resignation about him, even in the energy signature that pulsed against Prowl's sensors. He circumvented the desk to stand directly in front of the officer.

Prowl allowed a triumphant smile on his face. He kept it small, though, determined not to gloat over his victory.

Sideswipe waited (im)patiently, and when Prowl still hadn't moved after two breem, Sideswipe's patience came to an end. "Fraggit Prowl, get it over with so I can go get it fixed. I'm supposed to be _presentable._ And Ratchet's going to need an extra cycle to yell at me because you mussed my paint."

Prowl tilted his head, and lifted his brow ridge. "Well, if you insist." He stood and closed the distance between them.

Sideswipe vented a sigh, his mouth pressed together into an expression of intense long-suffering and he tilted his head to the side. Waiting, once more.

Prowl's hands hovered just that torturous half a micron away from the other mech's chest. His doorwings adjusted for his balance as he leaned forward and rubbed his mouth against Sideswipe's cheekseam.

The warrior glanced down, and his bored face softened into the barest hint of a smile.

Prowl lifted his doorwings, acknowledging that smile. He brushed his fingers over Sideswipe's chest, fascinated with the design left behind in the paint. He traced idle circles and lazy squares over the red chest plate. Geometric shapes of complex, mathematical beauty. He lay his hand on the white paint of Sideswipe's torso and carefully removed it, leaving a perfect handprint.

This time the smile came unbidden, and Prowl revved his engine, optic's bright.

By the time Sideswipe walked out of Prowl's office, his once fresh coat of paint had been ruined with white hand prints on his red chest, and red smears along his white thighs. Prowl's normally pristine white hands had been coated in a thick layer of red, that disturbed any who saw him on his way to the washrack.

And for all of Sideswipe's whining about having to go back to Ratchet and Grapple, no one could miss the smell of ozone around him, or the spring in his step. No more than they could they miss the pair of perfect white hand prints on his aft.


	27. BlasterMirageFluff

**Title **Blaster/Mirage/Fluff  
**Characters **Blaster, Mirage  
**Summary **Mirage tries to find something halfway decent to listen to on Earth.  
**Author's Note **Written for Hellsangelcurse.

* * *

Human station. Human music. Human noise. Human. Human. Human. Mirage slammed his hands down on the console, and let his head sag in frustration. For just that moment, he allowed his dignified composure to drop. He hadn't been aware that he was being observed.

A hand landed on Mirage's shoulder, making the noble mech jump. He whipped about, gun almost materializing in his hand. Blaster. Mirage let his hand drop, and straightened, determined to pretend that he had not been caught at anything less than his best. "Jamming your presence, again?" Not a complaint. Not when Mirage was known to walk around the base with his disruptor activated. Blaster grinned, but didn't answer. He flipped his hand out in a dramatic gesture, and a datachip appeared between his fingers. Then he waited. Mirage frowned at the proferred chip, and narrowed his optics in wary suspicion. "What is this?"

Dental plates flashed behind silver lips. "_This_ would be the fifth Aria from the Seitzan Movement. Think there's some other stuff up there, too, but the Fifth Aria always seemed ta suit you."

Mirage's jaw hinge loosened, and he gaped in disbelief at the other mech. He would never have thought Blaster would have picked up-much less retained-a piece of what many called 'Elite Tripe'. So, reverently, he took the datachip and met Blaster's optics (something he rarely did with any of the crew). "Thank you." Blaster grinned again, and waved it off. Then he twirled about , and danced out of the room with the first rising stanza of the Fifth Aria blasting from his speaker.


	28. JazzSidesHug

**Title **Can't Chase Me Away  
**Characters **Jazz, Sideswipe (I think, pairing only if you tilt your head)  
**Summary** Jazz is worried.  
**Author's Note **Written for Tiamat1972, whom I spoil shamelessly with fic. (Seriously, how many of these fics are a result of her influence?).

* * *

Jazz tensed as a familiar energy field brushed against his own. He didn't look at the mech, but grit his dental plates. "I already sent every slaggin' officer packin'. Even Prowl. Wha' makes you think I won't do the same to you?"

"...Because...I'm not a soft spark like Prowl?"

Jazz's engine growl and he all but snapped; "They're not okay. If they were, we'da heard from them. They'd be here!"

Sideswipe didn't retreat after Jazz's verbal attack. Instead he leaned closer and put an arm around Jazz's shoulders. "I never said they were." He put his other arm around Jazz's chest and pulled the saboteur close.

Jazz lay his head on Sideswipe's shoulder, and silently thanked the mech for ignoring the tears that dripped onto his shoulder. Bee and Raj would be all right, he told himself. A silent mantra he'd been keeping up between useless attempts at comfort. But reality broke out of his vocalizer instead;

"They're not okay. If they were okay they'd be here. Or we'da heard from them."

Sideswipe still hadn't said anything. He just held Jazz close.


	29. SUYFB

**Title **Shut Up For Once You Fucking Bitch  
**Characters **Rumble/Frenzy  
**Warnings **A little swearing  
**Summary** Conversation while they're in Soundwave  
**Author's Note** This is written for Daggerpoint, the title is her prompt.

* * *

"Whine whine whine. Gripe gripe. Moan. That's all he ever does all day. But you know, there are some days I wish Megatron would just slap him, y'know?"

"Pffffft, forget slapping him. Me, I just wanna grab him by his power conductors and throttle them close. Then I'll scream in his face, 'SHUT UP FOR ONCE YOU FUCKING BITCH'!"

"TSS! Will you shut up before you get us in trouble! What if they *hear* you?"

Clang. "Rumble, Frenzy: television access denied for next megacycle."

"Oh man."

"Slag!"

"Continue: no television for next decacycle."

"Heeheehee."

"Oh, shut up Laserbeak."


	30. Puppy Kisses Slash

**Title **Puppy Kisses  
**Pairing **Sideswipe/Prowl  
**Summary **Sideswipe tries something out on Prowl.  
**Author's Note **Request. Don't remember whose.

* * *

"Sideswipe, what are you doing?" Prowl twisted his face away from the glossa determined to lap at his chin.

Sideswipe pulled away and tilted his head, his expression inscrutable. "Something wrong with what I'm doing."

Prowl frowned and narrowed his optics. He tilted his doorwings and mouth in a very 'I'm not even going to deign that with a response' manner.

"But, I'm just trying to say hiiii."

"A simple 'hello' would have sufficed."

"Well, where's the fun in that?"


	31. Evanescence

**Title **Evanescence  
**Character **Sideswipe  
**Summary ** A turning point in Sideswipe's life  
**Author's Notes **One of my vocabularydrabbles

* * *

Sideswipe saw the missile before it hit. Thirty tons of explosive warhead that struck the side of the Tower.

An audio shattering explosion. A flash so bright and searing in its intensity that his relays ran hot and his optics cut off out of reflex. Gritel* and struts rained down on his plating, leaving dents and pockmarks where they struck; long strips of scratched paint.

Terror twisted his systems and he booted up his optics as soon as they let him. The light had already faded, but he could still see the bright rays of his future fading into evanescence.

* * *

*concrete-like metal


	32. Day and Night

**Title **Day and Night  
**Character **Jazz  
**Summary **Night time contemplations  
**Author's Notes ** Another vocabulary drabble, this time in my dragonverse. Jazz has been revamped so that he's a black dragon instead of a white one.

* * *

The forest sang around him: small insects chirping, the howl of some wolf, the low calls of owls. The sun had long since sank behind the mountains, and Jazz had started his vespertine routine. The Ark had closed behind him, and even the sensor flowers shut their petals. His comrades rose and fell with the sun of their new home, their alien bodies demanding so different a pattern than their normal megacycle long duty rotations. It left him and Mirage to cover the nightly patrols, and he couldn't even count on Mirage, in truth. At least, not until they regained the mech-beast's spark. Still, he supposed he should be grateful for the company every night. Even Bumblebee had succumbed to the other's diurnal habits.

He supposed he shouldn't complain. He had his sight back, and since rearranging his recharge schedule to match what his new body demanded, he found his growing temper had evened out, perhaps even returned to normal. Certainly he hadn't bitten anyone recently, though he still found cause to snarl at Prowl(_rival_) on occasion. This way, he didn't have to worry about the sun burning his sensitive skin, or panting in the worst heat of the day (the Ark maintained a constant ambient temperature).

Jazz slunk back to the lookout post, where his black body, and even the white stripe of his crest, blended into the shadow of the mountain. He coiled himself comfortably, while Mirage continued to frolic in the grass.

Primus, he could use someone to talk to.


	33. Mud

**Title **Mud  
**Characters ** Ensemble  
**Summary ** What the slag is that sound?  
**Author's Note** Vocabulary drabble, and attempted a different style. Hopefully it works

* * *

SQUK SQUK SQUK SQUK SQUK SQUK

"What the slag is that sound?"

SQUK SQUK SQUK SQUK SQUK SQUK

"Someone's got mud in their feet."

"You _would_ know, wouldn't you Huffer?"

SQUK SQUK SQUK SQUK SQUK SQUK

"... Sunny? Is that you?"

SQUK SQUK SQUK "Shut up, Sideswipe." SQUK SQUK

"Where the slag did the prima donna get _mud_ in his feet? He never leaves the roads unless we're in a battle!"

SQUK "What the slag is it to you, shorty?"

"Wouldn't be doing that if I were you, Sunny."

SQUKSQUKSQUK " Thought I told you to shut up. And you-"

**KLANGUK**

"Hey lookit, Huffer. He even squelches on the wall."


	34. They were Slash

**Title **They were…  
**Pairings** Prowl/Smokescreen/Bluestreak (Datsun Trine! :D)  
**Summary** They were two, and incomplete.  
**Author's Note** Just a dribble exploring a trine that doesn't get the kind of love I think it should. (Why must it always be about the Seekers. *snuffles*)

* * *

They were two, and incomplete.

So they remained online, waiting for their missing link, their buffer. They didn't touch, satisfied by the mingling of energy fields, the sounds of their systems. Eased by their proximity. And though they made no physical contact, they brushed their optics over each other, like the lightest touch of fingers. They didn't speak, having had enough of words for one megacycle. Anything that needed to be said, they whispered over their bond.

Too alike and yet too different, they often came at odds with one another, and the bond would strain. So, they left a space on the three berths that they had welded into one, a vast chasm between them that could only be bridged by one other. One whose voice often could bring two so different mechs closer together.

Then the door opened, and he filled the room with noise (with _laughter_), as he waved a good night to his friends. The door closed, and still his presence remained, loud and boisterous, an ocean of character that soothed them. Still he chattered, going over his day, even though they knew (they _watched_) and laughingly planning the next one.

He accepted one of their hands, and they pulled him between them. Laid him on his canopy.

They gravitated to him like wayward moons to a sun. They pressed close, a leg on each of his thighs. He gave them equal attention, never favoring one over the other.

They in return gave him their undivided attention. Even though the words washed over their audio receptors only half comprehended, intent instead on the vivacity of his emotions.

One of them—it did not matter which—touched him, a simple stroke up a beveled join. They did nothing to silence him, but absorbed the life he brought into their existence. Their heads rested on his shoulder plates, and their optics cut off.

They were three.

They were whole.


	35. Role Reversal Slash

**Title** Role Reversal  
**Pairing **Prowl/Sideswipe (be surprised, I dare you! XD)  
**Summary **Prowl came online in an unusual position.  
**Author's Note **I had hoped to expand this one, but I just can't find the time, much less the energy to work on it when I have so many more uncompleted projects. Of note this does not take place in any of my other verses. Random piece is random.

* * *

Prowl came online in an unusual position. His hands were tied above his head and he couldn't access his comm. unit.

Hands touched his bumper, stroking and petting, and reaching just underneath the seam where his engine was housed.

Lips brushed his cheek, his chevron, his lips. Why the slag in that order? It made no logical sense!

Prowl activated his optics and glared at Sideswipe. "Would you care to explain why my hands are tied?"

Sideswipe pressed closer to Prowl and nuzzled his cheekguard. "Mmm, not really sparkles. Just seemed like a good idea, and you had those cuffs handy."

Power surged through his optics and he lifted his doorwings as much as he was able to. "Sideswipe as soon as I am out of these, I swear..."

"Shhhhhh," Sideswipe said with a finger to Prowl's vocalizer, going so far as pinching a wire and garbling the officer's voice. "Don't make a promise you won't be able to keep. I know how you hate to lie."

Dental plates scraped up Prowl's nasal ridge, and a hand stroked his hood. "Because, you aren't even going to know your own name by the time I'm done with you."

Prowl shifted, trying to turn his head away from the attention. "Maybe *you* shouldn't make promises you can't keep."

Sideswipe grinned. "Well, let me put it this way...

"You are off for the entire day.

"And I know that you don't have *any* plans.

"Matter of fact you had put a 'do not disturb' sign on your transponder signal, so...

"Everyone knows you don't want to be disturbed.

"Meaning!

"No one's going to come looking for you the entire day.

":D!"

Prowl fumed, especially at that last little blip of punctuation transmitted over their private frequency. The senseless picture face that had become so prevalent among the Autobots since they'd come to Earth. "Primus, Sideswipe, you're right. I am going to _kill_ you when I get out of here." His engine revved up from soft purr to raging growl. "I have things that I need to attend to. Reports I had planned on reading and writing. I was planning on indulging in a game of Solitary Standing."

Sideswipe still wore his damned grin. "Well, there's not much I can do about your game, but! I have managed to set you up with this sweet little deal here." Sideswipe pulled out a datapad, handling it like he was a sales mech. Considering his diverse history, it was very likely to have been true. He swept his finger over the top of the datapad, showcasing the wire that (once Prowl traced it back) attached to his console. "As you can see, this goes back to your computer, and once I attach it to your dataport, you will be able to access everything that you saved to your personal archives. I do hope that includes those files you wanted to read. You will find that you are unable to access any outside comm. units, except for Ratchet and Red Alert. Just in case something untoward happens to you."

Prowl lifted a brow ridge. "And what's to stop me from contacting them to release me."

Sideswipe tilted his head as though he had to think that over. "Well, do you really, _really_ want _either_ of them to find out about this? I know you wouldn't care if you could reach Jazz, which is why I have blocked you from contacting him."

Prowl growled. He didn't have to ask what Sideswipe planned on doing. He knew the mech had to report to duty in the next two breem. Leaving Prowl tied up for the entirety of his shift. "Sideswipe..."

Sideswipe's Primus-be-damned grin just wouldn't fade. "Oh, don't worry Prowl. You can comm. me, but only in text and I'm only going to pay attention to one word. 'Energon.' Understand?"

Prowl glared, but nodded. He understood perfectly. And honestly, considering how often he had done this to Sideswipe, how could he object to indulging him at least once.

Just this once.

Besides, Sideswipe was right in that all the files he wanted were on his computer. And the mech had damned well better be glad for that.

Sideswipe grinned at Prowl's continued silence and knowing hands traced along his torso until they found his dataport. Sure fingers stroked the panel open and inserted the plug.

Prowl hissed, unexpectedly sensitive to the sensation of linking up with the 'pad. He calculated an 89 percent probability that this was due to the fact that he was tied up like Starscream to Megatron's command chair.

Sideswipe laid a last tender kiss on Prowl's lips. "See you after shift change, sparkles."

Prowl grumbled a farewell and delved into the computer databanks, eager to take his mind off his humiliating position.

And then, he encountered the _true_ purpose of the datapad.

An innocuous little program that activated as soon as he began transferring data through it.

Prowl strangled a cry as the program dug into his sensors, activating them so that every smallest stirring of the air stimulated them. Even the vibrations of cries worked their way through his frame.

Fraggit!

FRAGGIT!

Sideswipe had installed a **stimstick** protocol onto the datapad.

PROWL WAS GONNA SLAG THAT PITTED AFT!


	36. Fingers

**Title** Fingers  
**Pairing** Jazz/Carly  
**Summary** If you want deep and meaningful plot, don't look here.  
**Author's Note** Written for a Smut Call on LJ. Didn't quite turn out the way I expected. But hey! I got to strike one of my WIPs off my list. WOOHOO! I had a few more fics saved up on here, intending to post them in my semi-weekly pattern, but they got deleted! -cryface- Just means I'll have to hunt them down again. Also, kicked the rating up a notch, cause it's probably overdue for it. Yes? If you disagree, let me know.

Thanks to Hitokirikurisuta for pointing out my improper labelling last chapter.

To anyone who's been following this all this time, faved it, or put it on an alert and to anyone who left a review, you get a hug. Thank you guys! (And no, I'm not done, I'm just saying I appreciate you.)

* * *

A person never knew how cold or warm their hands would be when an Autobot picked them up. It was almost like one could tell how much time they had to prepare for 'people handling', or even how much they might like the duty, or that person in particular.

A large finger stroked up her bare leg, warmed just for her sake. White lips touched her hair, and then grinned down when she tore her eyes away from the big finger between her legs.

Carly smiled back, but she couldn't keep the small tremor from her lips. She rolled onto her side so she could reach up and caress his chin. She found it a little frustrating that she couldn't meet his eyes, that blasted visor of his got in the way (but god was it so sexy on him.).

The finger continued its inexorable journey up until it rubbed against her most private junction.

She lifted her hips invitingly, feeling the beveled edge of his finger pressing in. It was probably as far as he could go.

Carly groaned in frustration, rubbing herself against the black fingertip with a simple rocking of her hips. The metal under her back banged inwards as the finger pushed against her.

That grin never left the mech's lips. His middle finger swept out from where it had curled against his palm, to brush against her naked breast. The horned head tilted as the flesh jiggled, and the finger stroked the other breast into motion.

His lips brushed her hair again; "That's kinda fun."

She snorted, and whacked his finger. "Men and breasts, even with giant, alien robo-ngh!"

Her head rolled and she panted as the finger between her legs suddenly started vibrating like a giant dildo.

That thought made her choke again, but this time on laughter.

The middle finger pinged against her breast again, sending it into motion. "Care to share the joke, little lady?"

She looked up at his face and looked away immediately. She started laughing harder, and it only got worse with every glance.

His grin widened as she laughed, and then tilted into bewilderment. "Carly?"

Carly covered her face, trying so hard to still her laughter. She peeked through her mess of hair at the blue visor looking down at her, and had to stifle another set of giggles. "I'm sorry, but, but!" She blinked tears from her eyes and her sides hurt so bad, but she still couldn't stop laughing. "You're a giant, walking, talking dildo, and I just…"

His head pulled away, and Jazz seemed to need a moment to contemplate that, his mouth twisting with his thoughts. "Well, this ain't nothin'. Now Sideswipe, that mech can vibrate. After all, he's got them pile drivers, bigger 'n my fingers even!"

That left Carly laughing so hard, she almost rolled right off Jazz's chest.

It really didn't take that much for Jazz to bring her to climax from there.


	37. Ashes

**Title** Ashes  
**Characters** Optimus Prime, Bumblebee, Ironhide, Not-so-random hatchling X3  
**Continuity **2007 Movieverse  
**Summary** Does the universe notice a single death, or even a great multitude?  
**Author's Notes **This was another fic scratched off my WIP list. I danced for joy. If you've seen this on my livejournal there are some slight changes. Also, Beast Wars Love! even if only a little.

...

Very little.

* * *

'_When a spark goes online, there is great joy in the universe. When one is extinguished, Cybertron weeps._'

Words from an age long gone past, when Cybertron still glittered gold with newness. Words from a philosopher who saw promise in every mech that walked out of the labs, before there were factories mass-producing soldiers that only lived long enough to die in their first battle. Words from a time when worship of Primus and the Allspark intertwined completely.

Of course, the likes of Wheeljack and Prowl would say the universe does not take note of any single individual, or even any single planet. Explosions stir up clouds of ash. Ash is then tossed about by the turbulent winds, but eventually fall back to the ground, as per the laws of gravity.

Surely, Optimus would like to argue with their callous words, if the universe won't notice the death of a single spark, surely it must feel it when a hundred, thousands die at once. Does nothing see when so much potential is destroyed, even before it's had a chance to take root?

He doesn't have to say it to know that they would shake their heads, but not argue back.

You don't argue with your Prime, and rather than make them uncomfortable, he stands and watches Cybertron weep around him. The soft touch of her tears a wirelight touch on his frame, his face turned up to allow the ash to kiss his face.

He only takes care to shield the hatchling in his arms; tiny systems are so sensitive to the smallest micron of dust.

The hatchling lies cold and still in his hands, its spark a bare flicker on his sensors; beyond the help of even Ratchet's considerable skills.

Yet he can't make himself lay it down with the hundreds others that had been excavated so far. To do so would acknowledge the fact that he had been trying to hold off for the past several breem.

Bumblebee comes up next to him, sparing the hatchling in the Prime's arms a sorrowful glance. "You requested a report."

Optimus shifts the cold frame into the crook of his arm, freeing his other hand to swing by his side. "Is it bad, Bumblebee?"

A soft, melancholic laugh spits out of the yellow mech's vocalizer. He hands Optimus a datachip. "Do I really need to answer that?"

The scout turns and walks away, rather than wait for the Prime's answer.

Optimus places the chip into a data slot in his helm. The information flickers through his HUD: Autobot casualties, civilian survivors and the lack thereof, energon supplies, artillery supplies. Civilian casualties.

The word doesn't do the truth justice.

Optimus curls his free hand over the small frame. The miniscule spark signature wavers dangerously. Here in his arms lies one of the civilian casualties. Before it had even a chance to truly live.

The report lay bare the truth of the devastation. No survivors, not even a single worker.

Ironhide comes up behind the Prime and rests an arm on his shoulder. "Let it go, Prime. It will die. We need to leave."

Optimus vents a defeated sigh. Drawn out of his contemplation, he realizes that the indelible sound of industrious mechs has ceased. He looks forlornly down at the dying hatchling, wishing he could save it somehow, watch it grow into a full mech.

Ratchet had scanned it, when they pulled it out from the rubble, and determined then that it's spark was too far gone to be saved. It would take a miracle of the Allspark to help it now.

Miracles were in short supply these days.

Ratchet hadn't thought it would last the cycle.

Optimus hadn't wanted the hatchling to die cold and alone, and so he held it as he supervised the failed rescue effort.

Not one single survivor.

That fact hurt like a frame-deep wound. They had driven away the Decepticons in vain. The hatchery was destroyed, the workers killed. The nursery was a pile of inert rubble. How many lives would be wasted by Megatron's unending lust for the Allspark? How many more lives would be ended before they had even begun? Optimus looked out on a barren field and in the distance all he could see was hopelessness, and unending battles. Would it not be better to give up everything, surrender to Megatron? To end the conflict, end the unnecessary loss of life?

A solitary sootflake drifts past the Prime's protective arm. It lands, a black smudge, on the little face.

Optimus rumbles, and wipes a finger across the tiny cheek spar. He eases the little hatchling into his hands and bends to set it down.

Tiny grippers latch onto his thumb before he can. Little optics look up at him, dim and flickering. Yet in them, Optimus can discern a singular determination.

Stunned, Optimus gazes down at this last remaining remnant of a once great facility. It didn't want to give up, has it not lasted past Ratchet's predicted cycle? Optimus draws the hatchling closer to the warmth of his spark. He looks up to Ironhide, and lifts his chin, resolved. "We will bring it."

Ironhide narrows his eyes, engine rumbling with disagreement. However, he merely turns and marches down to the rest of the troops.

Optimus straightens and transforms, drawing the hatchling into his storage compartment; warming the space for the cold, little body. If this tiny, little hatchling refused to give in so easily, than neither could Optimus Prime. He knows Megatron's madness wouldn't stop with victory. It would only give him free reign over the entire planet. Optimus could not, would not allow that to happen.

If this little one shows such conviction in its choice to live, to be the sole survivor of this tragedy, Optimus could do no less. He will not call it 'hatchling', but will name it as a sparkling. Optimus changes the record that Bumblebee gave him, to list the new sparkling as the sole survivor of this tragedy.

The little one will be facing difficult times in the coming growth cycles, as the Autobots had limited supplies to convert and upgrade a youngster. He will likely be stunted, but Optimus would see that he received the best tutoring. The best programming that will let him survive their war torn world.

Optimus can already see that the little sparkling is a fighter, and so it is no surprise to him when Jazz fully joins the Autobot ranks.


	38. Timing

**Title** Timing...  
**Pairing** Optimus/Hand  
**Summary **...he has a very bad sense of it.  
**The Author Blames **autumnsparrow, she wanted pronz. Okami was happy to comply. Short, sweet and to the, ahem, climax. (and yes, I'm still around, just working on a certain fic that hasn't been updated in a year or two.)

* * *

Optimus' hand rubbed allover his length until he came with a great cry that shattered his optics and drew the attention of the entire assembled.

Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to do that during a war conference.


	39. The Flight In

**Title **The Flight In  
**Character **Skyfire, kinda  
**Summary **Skyfire approaches the construction site for Autobot City  
**Author's Note **Just a vocabulary drabble

Any outsider would be frozen, gawking at the scene that dominated the flats outside of Central City. Brobdingnagian robots that walked amongst a seething mass of their Lilliputian allies would stun anyone into silence. It was the first thing that anyone approaching the site would notice: metal glinting off giant forms wading through a sea of flesh, and not stepping on a soul.

This was why Skyfire took a circuitous approach to the construction site, to give his passengers time to adjust to the fact that soon they, too, would be a part of that throng, but most importantly to give them the chance to see that they would not come to any harm.


	40. Stop Your Dancing

**Title **Stop Your Dancing**  
Pairing **Sideswipe/Prowl  
**Warning **See: Pairinng  
**Summary** Prowl has enough of Sideswipe's dancing around the matter.  
**Author's Note **Just another vocabulary drabble

* * *

Sideswipe danced around the subject in an arch manner, but Prowl knew better and brought a stop to his teasing with a single finger over the mech's lips.

Sideswipe stared down at the black and white mech's bright optics; his lips parted and his own optics wide.

Prowl smiled, flicked a doorwing, and withdrew his finger; his comportment easy and without reproach. "Yes, Sideswipe. I would kiss you, if only you'd stop talking long enough for our lips to meet."


	41. Revere the God Slash

**Title **Revere the God  
**Pairing **Sunstreaker/Sideswipe  
**Summary **Sunstreaker only ever wants to be worshipped, even on the berth.  
**WARNING **Do I really need to warn for twincest, really?  
**Author's Note **Vocabulary Drabble. I might have written this for Tiamat…. I think… Or maybe I was just writing it at her. I DUN REMEMBER ANYMORE!

* * *

Fingers pressed deeply into the seam where thigh and waist met. Lips caressed curved audio receivers, reverent worship of this golden mech.

It was as it was always supposed to be. Some mech would offer themself up to him and he would accept, but only if that mech would be the most likely to treat him with the reverence he deserved.

Names were irrelevant.

What need did he have for this nobody's name. Come the next shift change, this one would be sent off to live his own life: forgotten, but never forgetting the splendor he'd experienced.

How could any mech forget his sublime features, the perfection with which he graced them?

This one, like so many others, couldn't hope to match what he had to offer.

No matter that he was his very own brother.


	42. Only On Special Occassions Slash

**Title **Only On Special Occasions  
**Pairing **Sideswipe/Jazz  
**Summary **Flirty Jazz is a flirty Jazz  
**Author's Note **Spur of the moment fic written for Tiamat1972

* * *

"Sideswipe," Jazz said in a most breathless voice, "you are a hawt mech."

Sideswipe tilted his head, and smirked, oh-so-devilishly. "Try telling me something I don't already know."

Jazz had to ponder this for a few breem.

Sideswipe waited, and waited some more as Jazz apparently thought it would be funny to draw this out.

"Well, I think despite what Sunny might think. You'd certainly give him a run for his credits in a beauty contest.

Sideswipe snorted, and lay back on the berth. "Please, Jazz. That's old news. He just won't admit it."

Jazz rested his chin on the back of his hands, propped up on his elbow and bumper, his engine still warm from the last overload, hopefully the second of many. He might need to get an oil change after tonight's interfacing. "Somethin' ya don't know, huh?"

Sideswipe grinned impishly, "Yup."

"Well, howzabout the exact location of Megzy's high grade."

Sideswipe let loose a whistle of appreciation. "That's something I've certainly never seen before."

Jazz grinned and rolled off the berth. "I know." He went over and opened a subspace compartment hidden under a shelf. "Want some?"

Sideswipe stared in disbelief, processor nearly frozen in shock. "GIMME!" He lunged off the berth and tackled Jazz, snatching the energon cube out of the saboteur's hand.

He tossed back the entire cube in a single mouthful. He didn't have time to lament about the size of the cube as he suddenly found himself on his aft, his engine revving and already on the verge of overload. He looked up at Jazz with startled optics. That was completely unexpected. "Where the slag did you get this stuff?"

Jazz grinned and sipped a cube of his own. He sidled over and sat himself down in Sideswipe's lap. "I already tol' ya. Got it from Megzy's personal stash. Save it for special occassions."

Sideswipe frowned at his empty cube, but decided that Jazz's purring engine was much more interesting. "And this is a special occasion?" He rubbed Jazz's bumper, the paint smooth and slick beneath his fingers.

Jazz leaned forward, and kissed Sideswipe's audio horn. The purr of his voice matched the soft rumble of his engine. "You _are _the special occasion."

Sideswipe grinned and revved his engine. Then he thought about that, and slid a glance at Jazz. "Now _that _one, I haven't heard before."

Jazz grinned, pleased with himself. He gave no verbal response, but the physical...

Sideswipe would never forget _that _night, for certain.


	43. For Want of Subtlety

**Title **For Want of Subtlety**  
Characters **None**  
Summary **The Autobots are a straightforward, and honest people**  
Author's Notes **Slightly over 100 words to make a vocabulary drabble. And poking at a thought. Perhaps this can be read as an observation by one of their human friends.

* * *

The Autobots are a straightforward, and honest people, they will tell you what they think, to the point of bluntness. And while some of them learn in a short amount of time, most of the Autobots have a difficult time picking up on the subtler cues and subaudition inherent in the human language. Much of the sarcasm and posturing simply flies over their heads. Some think that this is the root at the heart of the Autobot/Decepticon strife, as the Decepticons rely on the subtlest of verbal cues and expression to communicate a great deal to one another. A method the Autobots simply aren't program to deal with.


	44. Unnatural Wildlife

**Title **Unnatural Wildlife  
**Characters **Hound, plus some surprises  
**Summary **Hound encounters something unusual during a normal patrol  
**Warnings **None  
**Author's Notes** Another Vocabulary Drabble. This one might be Nowhere to Turn compliant. Extra note below fic. Hope my line break thing works.

Hound slowed to a crawl, his warning system fritzing with alerts. He stealthily transformed and traced the scent that had set his alarms off. Unable to find it again, he crouched down with his face to the ground like a cyberwolf on the hunt. There, only a soupcon, the merest hint of a whiff. It wasn't age that had taken this trace away, no... For around it he could smell the electrical field only left by cloaking shields, the type that could efface a scent until nothing of it remained. Hound lifted his head, bright optics peering critically around him.

He crouched in the shadow of a cliff, plenty of places to hide to the fore and behind. But something drew Hound's optics up, and he met the snarling visage of a photovoltaic cat.

Hound stiffened at the sight of those red, red eyes, unusual to any naturally occurring Cybertronian wildlife. His fingers twitched and closed on the gun he pulled out of subspace.

The cat tightened his stance, snarl deepening.

The two stood like this for several breem; neither taking their optics, their sensors off the other.

Hound had never seen a PV cat built quite like this one. In any other situation he would have simply walked away. But he remembered Bluestreak jabbering about the turbohawks he'd _sworn_ had purposefully targeted him with their talons. They, too, had unnaturally red optics. Hound's fingers tightened, anger sparked through his motor relays. Hadn't the Decepticons caused enough damage without turning the planet against the wildlife that used to flourish all over. Hound narrowed his optics, and brought up his targeting systems.

This was _not_ a photovoltaic cat..

Damn them.

Hound brought his gun up and the cat leapt at him with a piercing yowl.

The shots hit dead on target, aimed for central processing unit.

But it didn't seem to phase the cat at all. It sank its teeth right through his armor and severed the servomotor cables to his hand.

Hound cried out and knocked the cat aside with a shake of his arm. He pounced on the cat, determined to capture it and take it back to base for examination and possibly spark interrogation.

It shrieked and yowled, chomping at whatever part of him it could reach, and raking its claws down Hound's chest.

Hound hissed in pain, but didn't loosen his grip. "You're not getting away that easy!" He wrenched the head away from his bidraulics. "I'm not Tracks, and I don't care how scratched up I get."

One of the hind claws caught between the torso plating, ripping the entire section away.

With a pained shout, Hound slammed the cat bodily into the ground. He retrieved his gun from the ground, certain that he had the time.

A turbohawk dropped on him suddenly, screaming wildly as it went for his optics.

He yelled and batted it away. He didn't even take the time to aim, but shot at the retreating bird. He ran his hand over his face, and came away with coolant smeared fingers. Nothing major his diagnostics told him, nothing like the rents in his...

FRAGGIT! The cat!

He whirled, gun held up and ready.

But he was too late.

The cat had disappeared and not even a joor of searching would avail Hound of its trail.

Unrelated Note: I have finished editing another chapter of Star-crossed and am posting this in celebration. I should have at least one chapter updated come June, unless I forget, or finish the next xx amount of chapters sooner than that. I'm just excited to finish this one. If it weren't for this bonus arc, SC would have been done already!-end unrelated note-


	45. What's in an Upgrade

**Title **What's In an Upgrade  
**Characters **Wheeljack, Spike, Sides, Sunny, Bluestreak, Jazz  
**Warnings **NONE  
**Summary** Wheeljack overhears a conversation in the rec room  
**Author's Note **This is just a thought on this piece of fanon. I thought this was a first Wheeljack fic, but then I remembered for the 'Love of Boom,' and 'What's For Dinner'. It's been a while, though.

* * *

Spike guided Mario through the air, rapidly pressing the button to keep the raccoon tail going. Sideswipe, Jazz and Bluestreak crouched behind him, watching the game on the tiny screen. Bumblebee sat next to Spike on the Autobot-sized couch, but none of the other mechs obviously felt comfortable sitting next to their more squishable friend.

Wheeljack took all this in within the span of a few astroseconds. He knew of Mario, as he'd been intrigued by the human entertainment systems when Spike had first brought them over. Though at the time, they'd had to watch through the human 'apartment' doorway. The game consoles weren't compatible with the Autobot displays, and so Spike had to drag out their little television, to let the Autobots watch him play.

He continued on past the little group, bound for the Energon dispenser. After his initial interest, he found the device terribly simple, and wished that they had the interactive holo simulators from Cybertron. Then Spike would really see some 'gaming'.

He walked past them again, on his way out, processor intent on his current project. He barely paid attention to the conversation of the people around the human television. It registered in his audios and was recorded to be reviewed later if necessary. Specific keywords would draw his attention to the conversation: inventions of his, a query for a solution, his name.

"…get Wheeljack to make one your size?"

Ah, yes. Just like that. Wheeljack paused before leaving and turned to pay better attention to the conversation.

"Slagging insane? You _want_ it to blow up on us? I wouldn't touch that with a hundred foot pole," Sideswipe said in reply to Spike's previous comment.

"One _thousand _foot pole. You know how big his blast radiii tends to be," Sunstreaker chimed in.

Sideswipe grinned over Bumblebee's and Spike's head at his brother. "If you want to go there, _ten_ thousand foot pole would be more accurate."

Wheeljack listened to the conversation, but couldn't make any more heads or tails out of it except that Spike thought he, Wheeljack, should make something for the larger mechs. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker obviously objected, and Jazz hadn't added his two cents. Should he be worried about that? Maybe he should find out what they were talking about.

Easily enough done.

He accessed the conversation in his databanks, and skipped past the irrelevant parts, until he reached: "_You know guys. Instead of just watching me play, maybe you should just get Wheeljack to make one your size?_"

Oh. Hm. Well, how difficult would that be? Wheeljack pulled up an image of the controller, but he didn't actually know what the components inside were. Though it should be a simple sensor pad device. Ah, but mech fingers would easily break that.

"If he did, wouldn't he have to upgrade the whole system? Otherwise we'd still have to get someone to switch the games for us."

How very true. Besides no human machine would be able to keep up with Cybertronian reaction times. Then he really ought to look into upgrading not just the size, but the processor and much of the hardware as well. But then the games wouldn't work on it, would they? Or if they did, they'd be simple things on a sophisticated system of his making. That simply wouldn't do, either. Goodness, this would to be a project in and of itself.

Spike laughed, a little self consciously. "That seems to be a lot of work just so you two can play a game or two."

How very true, Spike.

Bluestreak twitched his wings. "Don't you think I'd wanna play too, Spike? I mean, I'd at least want to try it. And I know Hound's been itching to play with some of the human, um… well toys, I guess. And Trailbreaker would want to join Hound. I don't really see Mirage playing, or any of the officers, oh of course except you Jazz, but I know other mechs would love to give the games a shot. Even Windcharger, or Gears…"

Sideswipe snorted, and Sunstreaker grumbled.

Bluestreak sat back and clamped his lips shut.

Of course he'd have to build multiple copies of the system plus the games they run. Otherwise Sides and Sunny would snatch it back to their quarters and hog the games all to themselves. Primus, this really would be a project. And for what purpose exactly?

To let mechs enjoy some games, when _someone_ probably _must_ have perfectly good Cybertronian ones _somewhere._ Didn't he have enough on his plate, as it was?

Wheeljack turned to resume his departure from the rec room.

"_Not interested, 'Jack?"_

Wheeljack once again paused and turned a frown at the only other officer in the room. Trust Jazz to be the only mech to notice him standing there. He responded in the same manner Jazz had contacted him, over the Officer's link. "_Don't really have time for it right now, Jazz."_

"_It'd keep certain somebodies out of trouble, and Prowl would be eternally grateful." _Jazz grinned, a knowing glint in his visor.

"_Too busy right now." _Wheeljack put on a glower at the other officer, and turned to leave.

He didn't have time right now, but the idea was still interesting. Jazz was right, thought. Keeping some of the crew occupied would be worth some of the trouble.

And Wheeljack wouldn't mind the chance to take one of the game consoles apart for a look anyways.


	46. SunstreakerStickyPaint

**Title **Mini #1  
**Characters **Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, Unnamed femme  
**Summary **Sunstreaker/Sticky/Paint  
**Author's note** Tiamat1972 and I exchanged a series of prompts back and forth to ignite our muses. Those will be my next few uploads on this 'collection'. When she prompted this It actually took me a few minutes to realize she meant my Sticky Situations verse. XD I was all set to write about sticky paint. (I'd like to add a dedication to Tiamat1972 and RogueRaven21 who both keep poking me for more from this verse. It is not forgotten.)

* * *

Nothing existed in his world except the canvas in front of him. He paid no attention to the model straining to hold her awkward position, or even his brother pressed close to her naked frame. He only saw the paint that he had yet to lay down. He smelled it and felt the specks of its smooth texture on his fingers. His optics moved from mixing the paint on his palette to applying to his canvas. With this paint he would make the two before him almost equal to his own beauty. For only through his paint could they ever hope to achieve that.


	47. HoundMirage Slash

**Title **Mini #2  
**Pairing **Hound/Mirage  
**Summary **Hound/Mirage/G1/Foreplay  
**Author's note** Tiamat1972 and I exchanged a series of prompts back and forth to ignite our muses. Those will be my next few uploads on this 'collection'. This is actually total prompt fail. Not sure about the ending, but, ah well.

* * *

Hound sat beside Mirage, trying to subtly lean toward the blue mech and inhale the rich waxy aroma that always accompanied him off duty. He thought the fragrance alluring, and arousing and wanted nothing more than to pounce the source of the delicious scent. But he didn't want to disgust the former noble with his 'uncounth' behavior.

Mirage sat beside Hound, his armor buffed and polished to a bright shine. He didn't say anything as the green mech leaned into his personal field, and sniffed at him like some earthly pet. He wanted to turn around and smother the mech in kisses. But he didn't want to frighten the common model into thinking he'd just use and toss him away.

Hound and Mirage sat together, and everyone else wondered if when they'd just get it over with and admit their feelings for each other. Smokescreen and Jazz were taking bets on who would give in first: Hound or Mirage. Some only ground gears in irritation and scoffed. All were agreed that if it happened, it better not happen in the rec room.


End file.
